


We Stand on Two Legs

by Omni



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Stiles, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Post Season/Series 02, Sexual Content, mental manipulation, wolf packs have two alphas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omni/pseuds/Omni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek pretends to know what he's doing, and maybe he really does.  Maybe he was too young to remember ALL the traditions surrounding the alphas within the Hale pack, but maybe he knows exactly what he's getting himself into.</p><p>Stiles, however, really only cares about how he can use his new status to fix everyone so they stop wallowing in their own guilt and shame and the filth of abandoned train stations.</p><p>Oh, and let's not forget the Gerard Monster and Alpha Pack audit.  ...That Stiles must, of course, help everyone through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Added Stability

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after season two, and will likely be made totally obsolete come season three (which I'll likely have to wait forever and a day to even see because I rely solely on Netflix, yay). 
> 
> Anyway! I'm trying my hand at a slow build, so let's see how long my patience lasts before I just have guys falling naked into bed together (or against a wall, or in a car, or on a chair...). As such, it will likely be rather tame for a while, aside from gratuitous cursing and some series-appropriate violence. There will, however, be sex. Eventually. When the boys stop being stupid. Some of the tags speak of things to come. More tags will probably added later, as well.
> 
> PS: You can find me on Tumblr under cursedtruth. Any time I update this story, I will mention it there. Plus, I'd be open to any Sterek talk you'd fancy.  
> PPS:  
> Story now made better thanks to the help of the lovely Peramia! Yay! All remaining mistakes are totally on me.  
> _______________________________________________________________________

The alpha pack. No, no, it deserved capitals: The Alpha Pack. It was a total misnomer, considering the _entire_ pack was not comprised of alphas, it simply had more alphas running it than a normal pack. To be precise, it had eight, which was a bit of a departure from the typical two all healthy packs boasted.

Derek had heard about the pack, back when he was a kid. He’d even met one of the Alphas ruling at that time. Yes, ruling, because it always struck him as more of a governing system than the familial bonds of normal packs. It had been explained to him that, once upon a time, The Alpha Pack had been a normal pack, just a regular family of werewolves and humans like any other were-pack. However, that pack grew and grew, marrying into another very large pack, and adopting stray omegas to protect them from hunters. Really, it all just kept snowballing until they pretty much dominated all of southern Oregon and northern California. It was their size which brought on the necessity of having so many alphas, and the territory was essentially divided into regions for them to govern in pairs. 

“It’s an odd way to run a pack,” Derek’s mother had said, frowning in disapproval. “They should simply split themselves into smaller units, instead of having alphas that strut about like they’re kings.” She’d turned to look at him, bright eyes catching the light as her frown melted into a warm smile. “Alphas are meant to protect and nurture. The pack is meant to be one’s family, not subjects to rule.”

She had been very polite to the visiting Alpha, though, because evidently The Alpha Pack had also taken it upon itself to act as enforcers concerning all neighboring territories. If a pack stepped out of line (too obvious, drawing too much attention from hunters or humans) or was found lacking in some way (poor leadership, unruly betas), it was disbanded and absorbed into The Alpha Pack. 

The Hale pack had nothing to worry about in the past, because it was large and strong, and its roots ran deep. Things had changed, however. Derek knew that if The Alpha Pack came and passed their self-righteous judgment upon him, they would find him lacking. While Derek may not be overly fond of having to serve as alpha, he was less fond of the idea of being subservient to a stranger in a soulless pack.

So, he’d made a list in his head of everything his pack needed in order to obtain The Alpha Pack’s stamp of approval. At the very top was something that was without a doubt the greatest necessity, but the most impossible to obtain. Or, at least, it seemed impossible. 

The reason that an Alpha had visited the Hale pack back in the day was because Derek’s parents were going to be formally recognized as the new alphas, the titles passing down from Derek’s great-aunt Laurel and her human wife. It was the visiting Alpha’s duty—so he claimed, chin high with self-perceived importance—to make certain that the new alphas were capable of the task. His lips had drawn back in a sneering smile as he commented on the Hale pack’s “quaint custom” of always having one human and one werewolf alpha. Yet, no matter how hard he’d tried, he could not find fault in either of Derek’s parents, neither his werewolf mother nor his very human father. They were good people, and fiercely protective of the pack. 

Derek needed to find a human that would be up to the task, one who was nurturing and protective and loyal. It needed to be someone whom he could trust to have at his back, someone who could hold his or her own and be more asset than liability. 

One particular human kept coming to mind whenever he’d muse on the issue, but he always pushed the thought aside. It also had to be someone whom the rest of the pack would readily accept, and who would even be interested in the position.

It was while attending the funerals for the fallen deputies that Derek could deny the perfection of his subconscious’ choice no longer. Derek told himself he only lurked about in the nearby trees of the graveyard because he was watching over Jackson, but part of him knew that to be a half-truth. There was another teenaged boy attending the funerals, his large eyes red-rimmed as he said his last farewells to people he’d probably known since childhood. Derek watched Stiles just as much as he watched his newest beta.

Jackson attended every single funeral, positioning himself near the back. It was painfully obvious that the boy was trying to maintain an impassive front, but he always failed. Derek could tell that Stiles always spotted the other boy, always glanced his way at the start and finish of the service, but usually kept his distance. At Deputy Swanson’s funeral, that changed. Stiles had walked up to Jackson at the end while the athlete was still staring desolately at the gaping hole of a grave, his jaw clenched in an effort not to break down in guilt and shame. For a long, awkward moment, Stiles just stared at Jackson. Then he clasped the broader teen’s shoulder so hard it wrinkled the fabric of his suit. “It wasn’t you,” Derek heard Stiles whisper, quiet and harsh and insistent. “It was Matt. Not you. It was never you. You know that, right?” After that, Stiles always stood next to Jackson at the funerals and Jackson looked less like he wanted to jump into the graves with the lowering caskets.

That right there had cemented it for Derek, and he could honestly not think of a better choice.

All he had to do was clear it with his remaining pack.

_________________________________________________________

“It’s time we obtain our second alpha.” Derek said to the room at large as he strolled into the abandoned station. Isaac and Jackson were sitting together working on homework while Peter sat a safe distance away with his laptop open. All of them looked up from their tasks upon hearing Derek’s declaration but no one seemed particularly surprised or upset by the words.

Jackson frowned in confusion, and replied with: “What, are you getting married?”

“Am I—what? No.” Heaving a heavy sigh of tried patience, Derek rubbed his hand across his face and squinted at his younger betas. “Do you guys really think we’re exactly like natural wolves?”

Peter snickered, but returned his eyes to the laptop’s screen when everyone glanced over at him.

“Jackson, if we were like actual wolves, you wouldn’t be allowed to have sex. Only I would be allowed.” Derek shot the boy a level look, eyebrows raised in an effort to drive his point.

“Oh _hell_ no,” Jackson declared. “I am not living the celibate life for this shit.”

Derek's eyebrows plummeted into a scowl. “That’s my point. We are just as much human as we are wolf, and so aren’t entirely driven by lupine instinct.”

“Only occasionally,” remarked Peter, looking up from the laptop to make a claw shape with his hand and issue a playful snarl. 

Jackson pointedly ignored him.

Trying to keep the growl out of his voice, Derek soldiered on through clenched teeth. “ _As I was saying_ … Even though we aren’t exactly like natural wolves, werewolf packs are generally stronger with two alphas.”

“So, I ask again: are you getting married?”

“No, Jackson; no one is getting married. Hale tradition doesn’t even have a stipulation on the genders of the two alphas. The only rule the Hale pack has is that one must be werewolf and one human.”

Peter had gone strangely silent, and a quick glance his way saw him studying Derek with a considering look in his eyes. 

Isaac nodded thoughtfully. “I can get that. I mean, look at Scott’s pack—it’s entirely human besides him, and they get on just fine. Obviously humans can be useful to have in your pack.”

“Scott doesn’t have a pack.” Derek did not attempt to suppress his growl that time.

“But you said—”

“I had been _joking_ , Isaac. Scott is an omega, which is probably not the best thing for him to be with the Alphas coming. Omegas are loose ends that either need to be tied or cut. So either he’ll be forced to join a pack, or…” He gave a short, aborted waving gesture with his hand, turning his face away so as not to see the dawning horror in Isaac’s eyes. 

“In any case, I’d like to nominate Lydia as the human alpha.” Peter grinned wide, obviously pleased with himself and his nomination.

“I won’t even need to use wolfsbane to kill you, old man. I’ll just cut you into so many pieces and spread them so far across the globe that no amount of head-fuckery magic on innocent girls will be able to put you back together again. Humpty Dumpty won’t have _shit_ on you.” Jackson’s eyes were glowing blue by the end of his little tirade, and Derek was severely tempted to just let the kid have at it. Unfortunately, that would thin out his already rather pitiful pack, and they really needed to promote themselves as established when the Alphas arrived.

“Calm down, both of you.” It was always surprising, yet secretly satisfying, to watch his betas shrink back at the merest hint of red in his eyes. “We need to take this seriously.”

“I _am_ taking it—Okay, shutting up now.” Peter held up his hands in surrender when Derek’s eyes turned fully red, his teeth growing sharp in a snarl of warning. 

“Do you already have someone in mind, Derek?” Isaac was a good kid, Derek decided. True, he was a bit unruly when he was first turned, but he settled into it nicely. At the start, if asked, Derek would have put good money down on Boyd being the stable, dependable one. Instead, Boyd and Erica had jumped ship and Isaac was a quiet, calm presence at his back. 

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Derek glanced around at them all, meeting everyone’s eyes for a second to ensure they knew he was serious about the next words to come from his mouth. “I think we should ask Stiles.”

They more or less reacted as he’d anticipated, if maybe a touch more accepting. Jackson seemed lost in thought before giving a small, dismissive nod. Isaac’s reaction was only a surprise in how eagerly he agreed. At least, until he exclaimed, “And it will probably convince Scott to join officially, if we have Stiles as our second alpha!”

When Derek turned inquiring eyes towards his uncle, Peter was again studying him intently. “Really?” the older man asked, slowly closing his laptop and setting it aside. “You’re sure about this?” 

“He’d make a good alpha,” Derek replied, crossing his arms and nodding. “I know he’s young, but he’s got what it takes.”

Peter nodded slowly, gaze flicking across his nephew’s face. “Oh, no denying the kid is all kinds of great. I mean, hell, I barely got to interact with him and I could tell he was something, and had the potential to be even more. But are you _sure_?”

Derek understood what his uncle was asking. He remembered that appointing an alpha was a bigger deal than someone inheriting the title, because it implied an incredibly deep level of trust. 

Meeting Peter’s eyes, Derek nodded and said, “I’m certain.” 

“Then go get him, tiger.”

_________________________________________________________

Stiles opened his door, blinked, then turned to the slab of wood and glass as if examining a riddle. “Hmmm, hm, no, this can’t be right. This isn’t a window, and you aren’t just barging in. No,” Stiles stated in conclusion, turning back to Derek with a smartass smirk, “you can’t possibly be the real Derek Hale. Obviously you are an imposter.”

“May I come in?” Derek asked, trying not to appear as amused as he felt.

That just made Stiles’ eyes widen and his smirk falter. “And _manners_! Seriously, who are you and what have you done with Derek?”

“Stiles.”

“Lies. _I’m_ Stiles. You’re trying to steal _my_ identity now, too?” 

“Shut up and let me in.”

“And _there_ ’s the Derek we know and love. Sure, come on in, buddy.” He was smiling and sweeping his arm out in gangly emphasis, and everything about it was so calculatingly typical Stiles that it drew Derek up short for a moment. Something was off, lingering in Stiles’ eyes like a shadow. 

They sat at the dining table across from each other, a can of soda in front of Stiles and a glass of water in front of Derek. Stiles had continued his act while fetching and serving the beverages, but once they were seated, it was like watching someone stick a pin in a balloon and the helium slowly leak out. All of the energy faded, and the soda can was twisted lazily across the surface of the table, handled carelessly by long fingers. 

“What is it?” Stiles eventually asked, soda stilling momentarily as his dark honey eyes slid up to pin Derek with a strange intensity. “What do you need this time?”

Derek hesitated, still reeling with confusion and concern. “What’s wrong?”

That had been the wrong thing to say, Derek realized, watching Stiles’ expression close off and those fingers curl around the can in a tight grip. “Nothing.”

This talk was off to a horrible start, and Derek huffed in frustration, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Fine. Alright. Forget I asked. I came here because I have a proposition for you.”

Suddenly Stiles was all joking demeanor again, eyelids fluttering and lips pouting in a mockery of sultry. “Why, Mr. Hale, I’m not that kind of girl!”

“Shut up.” But it made Derek laugh, just a little, which worked like some sort of magic to decrease the tension in Stiles’ shoulders and bring a real smile to his lips. 

After taking a quick sip of his soda, Stiles tipped the can towards Derek in encouragement. “So, get to it, what could you possibly need from li’l ol’ me?”

“I want you to join the pack,” Derek plunged in with. Then, while Stiles was still processing the words, he plowed on further. “And be the second alpha.”

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed for a moment, before he finally spat out, “I don’t want the bite.” The spike in Stiles’ heartbeat at those words was interesting, but not relevant. 

“Not what I’m proposing. Hale pack tradition generally has one human and one wolf alpha.”

Stiles nodded at that, but still looked highly disturbed. “Okay, but I’m not a woman.”

“What does that have to—”

“We can’t mate and make little werewolf cubs.”

Derek did his own share of blinking at that, before growling in frustration and burying his face in both hands. “Why does everyone assume it means you and I have to get married or fuck?”

“Because with wolf packs—”

“I _know_ what it’s like for real wolves, Stiles, but we aren’t real wolves. Otherwise how do you think my family could keep growing like it had?”

“Well, hell, I don’t know! I just researched everything I could when Scott got bitten, and that included wolves and wolf packs.”

“And mating habits.”

“Shut up, it was totally just part of key aspects of pack dynamics. It’s not like I was looking up wolf porn.” The kid shuddered at the thought, and Derek bit back another laugh.

“In any case, Stiles, this doesn’t include any sort of mystical life bond with me or magically-induced _mating_. You’d just help me take care of everyone. Help lead.” He caught the teen’s eye, expression turning sincere. “It’s why I chose you. Out of everyone, you’ve been the most dependable and trustworthy. I’ve seen you put others before yourself again and again.”

Instead of pleasing Stiles, as he thought the words would, it just turned him back into that strange shade of a man he’d seen earlier. “No,” Stiles whispered, going back to playing with his can. “I’m not a good choice, man, sorry. Maybe Lydia. She’s a genius and a born leader. Just ask her.”

“So that Peter can get into her head and use her to kill me and take over the pack. Yes. Because that’s a great idea.”

The can stopped twirling, and this time Stiles gripped it so hard it crinkled. “Good. I’m glad to see you don’t trust him. I’d worried, when I saw he was back and fighting at your side.”

“Why would I?”

“You did once.” Stiles’ eyes were accusatory as they snapped back up to pin Derek with a surprisingly potent glare. “You joined him once.”

“And I amended that mistake. With my claws.”

Sighing wearily, Stiles slumped back in the chair and directed his glare at the soda can. “What the fuck ever. I’m still a bad choice. Can’t even defend myself against a sick old man.”

“Is that what this is about?” snapped Derek, alert and angry for reasons he couldn’t even understand. “Are you moping about, dripping with self-loathing, because of what Gerard Argent did? That was _months_ ago.”

The can was shoved aside so hard soda sloshed out to splatter sticky and brown across the beige table cloth. “Fuck you. Fuck you very much. Just because you’re Mr. Insta-Heal-with-Ridiculous-Strength and have never known what it’s like to be helpless and scared and forced to acknowledge how fucking _weak_ you are—”

“You aren’t weak.”

“Shut up while I’m ranting; it’s rude. And the fuck do you know about weakness?”

“I watched my entire family burn to death while I could do absolutely nothing to stop it.”

That snapped Stiles’ mouth shut so loudly it clicked. He diverted his eyes from Derek, staring instead at the pattern made by the soda stains. It was a long while before he spoke again, but Derek gave him that time, let him gather back up his thoughts and reorder them until they made sense.

“Not to compare—because, fuck, how sick would that be to compare sob stories?—but my mom…she died of cancer a few years ago. So, you know, I can sort of understand. I mean, it’s not like my entire family, but...t sort of was half, really, I guess, because it was just her and Dad and me, and then she was gone. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Not a damn thing. Just watch her waste away. Watch it eat her from the inside out as the chemo and the drugs did nothing more than steal the rest of her strength. In the end, she didn’t really look like Mom anymore. Except her eyes, but even then only barely. The therapist they sent me to afterwards said I was trying to convince myself that it wasn’t her, that it was someone else. But fuck that noise, because I knew it was her. I always knew it was her. She would smile and call me by my real name, because she was the only one allowed, and only sometimes. And I’d smile back and hold her hand and curse the fact that I was _helpless_ and she was _dying_.”

Derek swallowed, remembered grief coalescing into a sharp, jagged stone in his throat. “It’s not fair, is it?” he whispered in offering, earning a startled look from Stiles. “It’s like having your own life stolen from you and replaced with something else, something less. Cheats you out of all those moments you were meant to have, but now never will.”

The look on Stiles’ face would be comical, if the moment wasn’t so wrought with stale mourning. “That was uncharacteristically poetic, dude.”

“And how would you know what is uncharacteristic of me, Stiles? You’ve refused to get to know me.”

Stiles frowned and snatched the soda back up without actually making a move to take a sip. “So, this alpha thing? Would I be working for you or…?”

“We’d be equals. You and I would lead the pack together.”

Nodding, Stiles flicked at the tab so that it made little metallic pinging sounds. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Sure,” agreed Derek as he rose from his chair. “And while you’re thinking of that, also think about the other aspects of pack dynamics you read up on, especially omegas, and how they usually end up when they refuse to have a pack. And then maybe think about Scott, and what’s best for him.”

The glare was back, but as Stiles opened his mouth, Derek raised a hand to stop him. “No, I’m not asking you to join my pack just to get to Scott. I’d want you as my co-alpha even if he never joined. He wasn’t even a factor in my decision to approach you.”

“Hn,” Stiles hummed in a musing sort of agreement, ducking his head to watch his finger continue to fiddle with the tab. As Derek turned to leave, he didn’t miss the tiny smile on the boy’s lips.

_________________________________________________________

Derek only smiled a little bit when Stiles showed up at the station, but Isaac was smiling enough for both of them, so it was okay. He tried not to let the stern expression on Stiles’ face discourage him, because one did not have to be a werewolf to sense the determination rolling off the kid.

“I will agree to a trial run,” Stiles said, raising a finger to emphasize his words. “But! If it all ends horribly—as I suspect it will—we part ways and never suggest such ridiculous ideas again.”

Derek grinned and Isaac darted forth to hug Stiles, as if he were greeting his new parent. Which, Derek supposed that in a way the kid was. Stiles would be partly responsible for Isaac from now on, “trial period” be damned. 

“Yeah, woo, great. Love you, too, buddy, now let go. Mommy and Daddy have to talk.” After patting Isaac uncomfortably on the back, Stiles slowly slipped from his embrace and moved towards Derek. “And F.Y.I., I’m the Daddy in this situation. Just so there’s no confusion.” Stiles didn’t even slow his step as he snagged Derek’s sleeve and kept walking towards the chairs. 

Once they were sat facing each other, no table between them this time, Stiles crossed his arms and squinted at Derek. “I have stipulations,” he finally said, tilting his face away a little as if expecting Derek to explode at the very idea.

“Alright,” Derek instead agreed with a mild shrug. “Such as?”

“We tell my dad.” Stiles’ shoulders tensed further, but he at least kept his head forward, chin high.

Without even needing to think about it, Derek shrugged again and nodded. “Would you like me to come with you?”

Finally that broke Stiles’ posturing, and he slumped forward in shock, gaping ridiculously. “What, seriously? Just like that? What happened to needing to keep all this a secret?”

“I’m not the one who decided not to tell your father.”

“What? But. But you—” Derek never thought he’d miss Stiles’ flailing, but in that moment he was genuinely glad to see it back in full force. 

“Besides,” Derek said over Stiles’ continued sputtering, “it would be easier to have the Sheriff on our side. Just in case more situations pop up that involve strange animal behavior or bizarre deaths.” When Stiles stopped flailing to simply continue gaping, Derek added softly, “You also won’t have to lie to him anymore.” 

“Stop it,” snapped Stiles with absolutely no real heat. “Stop getting into my head. It’s creepy. Is this some freaky power of yours now that I’ve agreed to be the other alpha?”

The chuckle bubbling up from Derek’s chest resisted restraint and forced itself out as a loud snort. “What? No. It just makes sense. Besides, I know you, and I know it kills you to lie to him.”

“How did you—”

“Because you care about him.” He didn’t say “Because he’s all that you have left,” but it felt like those words trailed behind the spoken ones, like ghosts haunting the living.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Stiles lifted his hands up and waved them a bit as if he could dispel their entire conversation thus far. “Whatever. Moving on. My other stipulation is that you and Isaac stop living like hobos in an abandoned train station and get real accommodations, for the love of God, Buddha, Krishna, Allah, and Amaterasu.”

“Amate—”

“Shinto sun deity. Keep up.” Stiles snapped his fingers and forced eye contact with Derek. “We’re not talking about gods here, Derek, we’re talking about pathetic werewolves who drive wank-worthy cars but live like vagabonds.” He paused and tilted his head, considering. “Though Peter can stay here if he’d like. Or, you know, the bottom of a lake. Whichever.” 

“We had to keep a low profile because of the hunters,” objected Derek.

“Yeah, and now Chris Argent is willing to enter into a truce. Especially if it means we’ll help him figure out what the hell his psycho-ass father turned into and how to take it down.”

Derek blinked and leaned forward in his chair. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, right, I was going to get to that later on in our Mommy-Daddy talk.” Stiles heaved a sigh and sank back into his chair in a way that looked far more comfortable than it probably was. “So, I spoke with the Argents. Chris was still all Baltar post-Cylons over what Gerard did to me, so it was easy to get an audience. Yay.” He made a little fist pump there, with as much enthusiasm as Scott probably has for pop quizzes. “Had a nice little chat about how his family needs to stop being murdering psychopaths and how we all would do much better if we all just worked together, blah blah, and so on. Oh, and he liked that you have a second alpha now. Not _entirely_ sure he was glad it was me, but then again, he did seem to like the fact that I am a rational human being who sees reason and makes sense and doesn’t want to _murder everyone_. So, there’s that.”

In that moment, Derek was certain he’d made the right choice. Without a doubt. It wasn’t like his sloppy, reckless turning of four troubled teenagers. No, in retrospect he could see how that was maybe pretty stupid. But this? This was exactly what they needed. What he needed. Someone who, in his own rambly way, made sense. Someone who’s first priority was to secure the safety of the pack. Stiles would be a great alpha. 

The thought had Derek smiling like he hadn’t since New York. “A pack is stronger with two alphas,” he said, instead of gushing like the giddy idiot he felt himself to be in that moment. “More stable, too. It creates a balance that calms the rest of the pack.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh, still pretending to be annoyed even though the corner of his mouth twitched up a little. “Lord knows this pack could use some calm.”

_________________________________________________________

To be continued... 


	2. These Walls Were Here for a Reason

Stiles knew a few things about Derek Hale. They were, in order of certainty: he was a werewolf, he looked good shirtless, he was a bit of a creeper, he was straight, he was an idiot, and he was not very good at letting his guard down with people. Except, supposedly, he now trusted Stiles. Trusted Stiles enough to invite him to be co-leader of his pack. His pack, which, if everything Derek’s been explaining to him over the past few days is correct, is akin to his _family_. So, Derek just asked Stiles to be part of his family. To be _in charge of_ his family. 

That was a lot of responsibility for anyone, let alone for someone whose dad wouldn’t even let him get a goldfish out of fear he’d kill it by way of neglect. 

Speaking of his dad, Stiles thought the ol’ man was taking everything pretty well, all-in-all. Though he had demanded that Derek shift a few more times in front of him, so he could be certain it wasn’t a prank done with _really_ good costuming effects. He sat on his living room couch, staring up at his son and Derek, silent and contemplative. “Well, that certainly clears up some things. Though does that make you the one who—”

“Killed all those people?” Stiles interrupted quickly, stepping slightly in front of Derek. “No. No, no, totally wasn’t Derek. It was…” He trailed off, darting one quick glance over his shoulder at Derek before clearing his throat as if that had been the cause of the delay. “Some other werewolf. Who died.”

“Died,” his father deadpanned back.

“Yes. Died.”

“By natural causes?”

“Well. No. Not…exactly. But it’s okay; he’s alive again for reasons unknown. So, no one murdered him. Because you can’t be a murderer if there is no murderee, right? Right.”

“Uh-huuuh.” Stiles’ dad switched his gaze fully to Derek. “And you want my son to be the leader of your…pack.” 

“Co-leader. A pack must have two alphas. Sir.” Derek shifted his weight, doing his best to maintain a confident demeanor in the face of the Sheriff and his heavy stare. Stiles thought it was adorable, in a hilarious, I’m-totally-going-to-mock-him-later sort of way. 

“And what, exactly, would this co-alpha-ing entail, Mr. Hale?”

“Wolf packs are family units, and werewolf packs are no different. Even when it’s a case like ours, where most of the members aren’t blood related. The alphas are the parental figures.” Yep, so just as Stiles had deduced from his recent crash-course in Alpha Responsibilities 101. 

It was still a huge blow to the mind that Derek trusted him like this. Fuck, Stiles wasn’t so sure he’d be _nearly_ as keen to trust someone who accused him of murder and pretty much was a complete ass to him. But maybe saving each other from terrifyingly horrible deaths was enough to form some sort of kinship. At the very least, it seemed to prove to Derek that Stiles was someone he could trust. 

The Sheriff seemed amused by this. “So, you want my son to be a parental figure. My sixteen-year-old son.”

“I’m almost seventeen,” objected Stiles, narrowing his eyes.

“That you even felt the need to point that out shows how—”

“And _who’s_ the one that keeps this house in order, does all the laundry, makes sure you eat right, and double-checks that you remembered to pay all the bills on time?”

“Stiles, I’m not saying that you aren’t mature, son. I’m just saying you aren’t—”

“Old enough. Which is the same thing as saying I’m not mature. Look, my body’s still going through puberty, I’ll give you that, and believe me I wish it wasn’t because this shit is _annoying_ , but I’ve known kids more mentally and emotionally mature than some adults. So body development isn’t really the issue here, and I highly doubt was what Derek was thinking about when considering potential alpha candidates. Especially since I doubt my body is something Derek would want to think about, anyway. And the man just said that his pack is essentially his _family_ , which is something that we can relate to—the importance of family—so I don’t get why you would think that he’d just randomly pick some dumb kid to fill one of the most vital roles in said family, unless he thought I was capable.”

Stiles’ father stared up at him for a silent moment, before his mouth drew itself into a thin, tight-lipped smile. “You done?” he asked flatly, waiting for Stiles’ still-somewhat-aggressive nod. “You are an incredible kid. But you are still a kid, Stiles. Hell, so is Derek. But most importantly, son, you are _my_ kid. As such, it’s in my job description to worry about you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Like hell. I’m willing to bet that night you disappeared and came back bloodied that it wasn’t really some jocks getting you back for wiping the field with their team. Am I right?”

“It was Gerard Argent,” Derek offered, ignoring the death glare Stile suddenly sent his way.

The Sheriff was on his feet in an instant. “Is that anything to do with why he also seemed to drop off the map after that night?”

“Only tangentially,” explained Derek, still manfully ignoring Stiles’ stinkeye. “He was trying to send a message to Scott.”

Sheriff Stilinski blinked a couple times. “What? Why?”

“Ah. Well. Dad.” Stiles finally stopped trying to bore a hole through Derek’s skull with his glare, and turned a sheepish expression back to his father. “See, there’s a few more things we need to tell you. Like that Scott is also a werewolf, and that hunters exist who kill werewolves, and that the Argents are a family of said hunters.” He’d kind of screwed his face up at the end, cringing so that he was only viewing his father’s response through one barely-cracked eye. 

Unsurprisingly, his dad fell back into his seat as if his legs could no longer support him. Stiles knew all about what it was like to have your entire worldview shaken and transformed in the span of a few minutes. It was pretty fucking terrifying. 

Derek reached out and pushed Stiles gently towards his father. He looked over his shoulder at the werewolf, and was only mildly surprised that the two of them were able to effectively communicate with their eyes and expressions. Stiles moved to sit beside his dad, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close in something not quite a hug. 

“I know,” he said softly, squeezing his dad’s shoulder. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? And, like, that’s not even the half of it. What happened at the station? That wasn’t entirely Matt. Which I’m sure you knew, considering the types of damage done. It was a lizard monster—like, not even shitting you here, Dad, a for real _lizard monster_ —that Matt was controlling, using as a weapon. It’s…gone now. So, we won’t have to worry about that anymore, but for a little bit Gerard Argent had ownership of it. He’s that kind of psycho. What’s worse is that he’s out there now as something creepy and inhuman himself, and we don’t even know what. And, yeah, this is all like some sort of freaky nightmare, and I’m sure you wish this was all an elaborate joke. And I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t want you to get involved in any of this, but if I’m going to be an alpha, it was sort of necessary. I’m sorry.”

“Everything makes more sense now,” his father whispered, then scoffed and shook his head in incredulous amazement. “As strange as that sounds, it actually makes all the madness recently make some sort of sense. Christ.”

“Dad. Dad, look at me.” He waited until his father complied, both men stone-faced and serious. “You can’t tell anyone about any of this, okay? This can’t get out.”

“But people have a right to know, to protect themselves,” the Sheriff tried to protest, even though his tone was weak and begging to be defeated.

“I did a lot of research on werewolves once Scott got bitten, Dad. A _lot_. And I found some pretty disturbing things…about how humans treated werewolves and people they _suspected_ were werewolves. We can’t let that happen again.”

“Stiles.” His father sighed and turned away to bury his face in one large, weathered hand. “This isn’t the Middle Ages. You can’t honestly believe we’d resort to torture and public executions.”

Stiles looked up at Derek as he answered his father. “Dad, people are already torturing werewolves and executing them. Derek and two kids from his pack were kidnapped and tortured. Scott and I saw Gerard slice a werewolf in half for no reason. None.” He drew in a shaky breath, but he still maintained his eye contact with Derek as he continued. “And, Dad…Scott was nearly killed by Mrs. Argent. If Derek hadn’t stormed in to save him, we’d have lost him, Dad. It was so close.”

The hand moved back to grip at the Sheriff’s hair instead of rub at his face. “I can’t figure out which bothers me more: knowing that there are people out there trying to hurt and kill innocent kids, or the idea that all this secrecy will make it damn near impossible for me to do anything about it.”

“You can do something,” said Derek, drawing the older man’s attention. “You can help us, and we’ll try to give you suspects to arrest as often as we can.”

“And evidence,” Stiles added, giving Derek a secret little thumbs up at his side. “Because no arrests can be made without proper evidence, right? We’ll take what we’ve learned with the Matt situation and make sure to do better next time. Gather all the evidence _before_ the final showdown where the bad guy tries to kill us all while he monologues maniacally.”

Stiles’ dad cracked a fond smile as he turned to look at his son. “That would be helpful, yes.”

“Great! So, it’s settled! I’m going to be an alpha, and you’re going to help us cover up supernatural goings-on while we help you bag the baddies. Everybody wins, yay.”

The Sheriff was too busy shaking his head and shuddering with silent laughter to object.

Stiles caught Derek smiling a little, and that was weird as hell. Well, not the fact that Derek was smiling, because Stiles _had_ seen him smile on occasion. This was a different sort of smile, one which was a bit foreign on Derek’s face. It looked warm and contented, and Stiles wondered at the way it made the man seem so completely different. Almost normal, and not nearly as broken.

_________________________________________________________

“You have _got_ to be shitting me,” Stiles griped as he and Derek meandered through the furniture shop. His wolfy co-alpha was being ridiculously agreeable about nearly every piece Stiles picked out for the new townhouse, so Stiles was running out of ways to rile him. He’d finally struck gold when he asked whether or not Derek had any idea about what Gerard had become. Perhaps it was cruel to poke at the festering wound that was Derek’s acknowledgement of his own idiocy, but Stiles never claimed to be a nice guy.

“It’s not exactly something I’ve encountered before,” objected Derek as he pretended to consider a large and particularly ugly wardrobe with gaudily intricate filigree sprouting forth from its top and sides. 

Glaring, Stiles grabbed Derek’s sleeve and tugged him towards an area that was far more modern and fashionable. “Like you ever encountered a kanima before, either, but you still knew about that. Besides, you said Peter’s got a laptop bestiary or something.”

Derek scowled, but allowed himself to be led. “I tried looking in that, but there’s not exactly something in the index about people bitten by werewolves while mountain ash is pumping through their veins.”

“How are you even still _alive_? Like, seriously? How do you function on a daily basis while being so unbelievable moronic?”

The dark glare he got from Derek made Stiles positively beam. “Look,” he said, stopping them in front of the display of a seriously swank bedroom set that Stiles would like to have for himself, “after we’re done here, we’ll meet back at my place and I’ll show you how researching works.”

“I know how researching works,” grumped Derek, pulling free of Stiles’ grip in order to cross his arms. “I’m a college graduate, after all.”

Stiles fake cooed and sauntered over to the bed to scope out the sweet frame. “Well aren’t you a big boy? Went to big boy school and got his big boy diploma and everything.”

“You’re a brat.” 

There was absolutely no real anger behind the words, and the realization that they were teasing each other startled a bark of a laugh out of Stiles. A glance at Derek found the man steadfastly trying not to smirk. With another laugh, Stiles threw himself onto the display bed’s mattress. “Aw, baby, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.” He gave a saucy wink and ran his hand slowly up his torso, catching his shirts and tugging them up a bit along the way.

Derek ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “You are ridiculous. This is ridiculous. I asked a crazy person to be my second alpha.”

“Psh, I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about. _I’m_ not the crazy one, you are. Crazy about me. Awwww yeeeaaaah.”

“Get off that bed before we get kicked out.”

“For indecent behavior?” Stiles wagged his eyebrows and wiggled around in something that was more fish out of water than seductive. His grin turned into a moue of displeasure. “This mattress sucks.”

Heaving a sigh, Derek stepped back and turned away a bit so as to make it seem less like they were together. “It’s just a display. Probably isn’t even a real mattress. This place just sells the furniture, not the bedding.”

“The bed’s frickin’ sweet, though, so you should totally get this set. It will look hot in your new place. All the girls will be baying at your door to get a look. Get it? Baying? Because you’re a—”

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” As one, they turned to see a young woman with dark red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, a skirt suit showing off long, long legs. 

Stiles nearly fell as he scrambled to get out of the bed and right his clothes. “Ah, yeah, we’ll be taking this set. I mean _he_ ’ll be taking this set. Because it’s for him, not for us. We’re totally not together.”

She blinked kohl-rimmed big blue eyes at them, her glistening red lips tightening into an amused smile. “I see.” Her attention switched fully to Derek, and she stepped a bit closer as she withdrew a tiny notepad and pen from the front pocket of her blazer. “When will you be needing these, sir?”

Derek gave her his friendly smile that he gives pretty much everyone but his actual friends. If he actually even has friends. Stiles wondered if he’d be considered one of Derek’s friends. He’d _have_ to be, right? Because there’s no way Derek would ask someone he totally hated to be the alpha. Yeah. Made sense.

Tuning back in, Stiles realized that Derek and the sales associate were discussing other sets for other rooms which would compliment the theme of the bedroom set. They started walking away without even glancing at Stiles, and he had to race after them to catch up. He retaliated by punching Derek on the arm none-too-gently. He was a big boy; he could take it.

Derek retaliated by shoving Stiles onto another bed as he passed, and kept walking without even breaking stride.

“You know,” Stiles called after him, “you do stuff like this and a boy’s going to think you _like_ seeing him all tousled and splayed out on a bed.”

He smirked when he heard the associate choke on a laugh and Derek’s growly “Shut up, Stiles.”

It wasn’t long until Derek and the associate—Lillian—had the entire townhouse planned out and the paperwork drawn up for ordering. Stiles sat in the chair beside Derek at Lillian’s desk while the older man read over everything and signed in the proper places. “You could probably have talked her down a bit more,” Stiles whispered super softly, knowing Derek would be able to hear it fine while Lillian would have difficulty even if she wasn’t on the phone talking with the warehouse about immediate delivery. “I’m pretty sure she was checking out your ass while we were in the dining room area.”

Finished with the papers, Derek sighed and leaned over to whisper back to Stiles just as quietly. Which incidentally had him practically mouthing Stiles’ ear, and the subsequent shiver was almost painful to suppress. “I already got a great deal, so stop bitching. And she was doing no such thing. She’s not interested. Probably thinks you and I are a couple, anyway.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose and shifted away from Derek and his warm, tickling breath. “No. Dude, she was totally checking you out. You should ask her out, then ask if she’d like to see how great that bedroom set looks at your place.”

“Stiles,” Derek growled, still leaning far too close, with his stupid pretty eyes staring all intently. “She has a wedding ring.”

Flicking a glance over at the woman still on the phone, Stiles spotted the sparkly rock set against a white gold band. He huffed and glared back at Derek. “Fine. But, seriously, when was the last time you got laid? I bet it’d severely improve your attitude.”

“The same could be said about you. So when was the last time you got—oh, wait, that’s right, for you that would be _never_.”

“Ouch. Harsh, man, harsh. Not all of us are underwear models, you know.”

Derek paled and sat back so that he was no longer half leaning over Stiles’ seat. “That was years ago and in Europe. How did you even _know_?”

Stiles blinked, Derek’s words slowly sinking in along with the realization that somewhere in the world existed photos of Derek in only his underwear. Holy Christ. “Holy Christ.”

“Fuck, you didn’t know, did you? Fuck.” Derek rubbed at his eyes and groaned as he slumped back in his seat. “Can you just pretend I didn’t say anything?”

“You’re joking, right? Because I’m totally Googling this shit when I get home.”

Derek shot him an unimpressed glare over the curve of his knuckles. “Why would you want pictures of me mostly naked?”

“Blackmail, of course!” Stiles lied, then realized a second later that such a thing was futile and stupid when in the presence of a werewolf. “Shut up,” he told Derek’s smirk. “Shut up and die.”

_________________________________________________________

“That better be Gerard Beast research,” Derek said by way of greeting that night as he walked into Stiles’ room without so much as a courtesy knock.

Stiles spun around in his chair to regard the man, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “So I see you’re behaving like people and entering homes through front doors now, instead of just barging in through windows. Good, I’d worried it was only a fluke the other day.”

“Like you never sneak through windows.” 

“Pardon me, sir, but your creeper is showing. Because otherwise how the fuck would you know?”

Derek, the bastard, just smirked and shrugged. 

“Fine. Be all silent and mysterious, Creeper McCreepington.”

“Moving on past the pleasantries,” Derek prompted, failing to keep the amusement from his voice even as he tried to loom in what he likely assumed to be an intimidating way. “What have you found?”

“Some _very_ interesting photos for a French designer that I have no idea how to pronounce the name of.” Stiles spun back around and moved his mouse to click on a folder that was, in fact, a dummy folder just in case Derek ever thought himself clever and tried to delete the photos from Stiles’ system. The actual files were hidden deep within other random folders, in a way that only Stiles could understand. “Would you like to see?”

Derek growled, because he was a wolfman and that’s what they do, and Stiles offered him a shit-eating grin, because he was an asshole and that’s what they do. “That a ‘no,’ then? Spoil sport.” Shifting the cursor over to another file, Stiles brought up all the research he’d accomplished (after finding the photos, and freaking out over the fact that holyshitDerek’sjunkispracticallyvisiblethisunderwearissotightGOD, then having some personal time, because he’s sixteen and bi and has perfectly good eyesight, shut up). 

His research was terrifying enough to make him not even care about how Derek was leaning over his shoulder to view the screen (okay, so maybe he cared a little bit, because life was unfair and thus Derek smelled just as good as he looked). “There are a few things he could be, but I’m leaning towards värcolac or pricolici. Tomorrow I’ll get Peter to hand over his laptop—I can do that, right, since I’m his alpha now?—and see what info he has on both of them. We still might not be able to fully narrow it down until we actually _see_ the Gerard Beast, and thus be able to match up physical descriptions, but it’s at least a start.”

Derek hummed in agreement, reaching around Stiles to grab the mouse so he could scroll through the notes. “Why do you think it’s one of these?”

Stiles shrugged, which rubbed his shoulders against Derek’s chest, and he really wished Derek would back the fuck off. “They’re both connected with werewolves, and are often times just slotted as such, but, they’re also different things entirely. Darker things. In the värcolac’s case, quite literally, since they cause eclipses.” 

The scrolling paused, and Stiles knew Derek was reading the part which had stuck out with Stiles the most concerning the pricolici. “Malicious, violent men are often said to become pricolici after death, in order to continue harming other humans,” the notes read, ripped straight from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pricolici). If that didn’t fit Gerard, Stiles didn’t know what would.

“This is a great start, Stiles. Good job.” Finally Derek pulled back and moved to sit on Stiles’ bed. Stiles valiantly tried to forget what he’d done on that a few hours ago, and turned back to his computer.

“Yeah, well, this is only helpful if he turns out to be one of these things. Otherwise, it’s right back to the drawing board.”

“True, but I’ve no doubt you’ll figure it out.” And fuck Derek and all this _trust_. 

Stiles had come to a disturbing realization earlier that night, his dick still in his hand and his cum cooling on his skin. While he’d always found Derek to be aesthetically pleasing, he had never been nearly so _in_ to him until the last few days. This he attributed to the sudden declaration of trust, and of seeing sides to Derek that he’d stubbornly refused to acknowledge in the past. Derek was supposed to be some weird, emotionally constipated jerkwad that would sooner punch you than talk to you. But, he wasn’t. Fuck Stiles’ life, because Derek wasn’t those things _at all_. 

To Stiles, he didn’t consider himself so much bi as he just didn’t give that much of a fuck about the outside. Perhaps there was a term for that; he’d look it up later. But, case in point: he’d fallen in love with Lydia well before she blossomed into the goddess she was. They had been kids. She’d been a complete nerd whom people made fun of or ignored, and her hair was so frizzy that people mockingly called her Hermione. Stiles loved her, though, because she was brilliant, so fucking brilliant, and it made her fascinating and wonderful.

While Stiles was still keeping Derek at arm’s length, he was safe, because he could fool himself into believing that the other man was shallow and stupid and mean. No amount of outer hotness could make up for all that inner ugly.

Already Stiles had to revisit his mental list of what he knew about Derek, and do quite a bit of revision. It had been maddening, and mostly because the more he learned the more he became intrigued, and the more he became intrigued the more he _wanted_. Because Derek wasn’t really stupid. He wasn’t. Stiles came to realize this, even though he still wouldn’t admit it out loud. Derek was also not really a creeper, sneaking into windows and lurking in the trees to spy on people aside. To Derek, he was watching over the people he cared for, or at least felt responsibility for. Stiles could understand that to some extent, because he could be stupidly protective, as well.

Mostly Stiles was doomed because Derek wasn’t _really_ a dick, he just played one to shield himself from the world. Stiles could understand that, too, because he would do the same damn thing. Only, with Stiles, he played the jester, the fool, the jokester. If life were a comic book, Stiles would probably be the Comedian from _Watchmen_ , only without all the raping and murdering. He was the funny man who laughed because life is one huge, cruel joke, and he was the only one who got the punchline. Derek would probably be Batman, despite Stiles’ fervent wish to be the Dark Knight, himself. Like Batman, Derek hid behind cynicism and scowls and mild stalkerish tendencies. Yet, on the inside, they’re both men who cared too much about the people they let inside their walls. They were broken things that played at being strong.

So, to sum up, Derek was Stiles’ favorite comic book character ever, made flesh, and life is utterly unfair. He simultaneously regretted agreeing to be alpha and was ridiculously pleased he did, for the same reason: he was going to spend the rest of his life working closely with Derek Hale.

______________________  
To be continued…


	3. I Can't Help but to Ruin Everything I Touch

There still had been no sign of Gerard, and Derek was running out of ideas. He and Stiles had spent hours together poring over books and the digital bestiary and news reports, but all they had were theories and no leads. No one had reported any strange animal sightings or activity, and without confirmation about what he looked like, they weren’t able to pin down exactly what he could have become. Not that the appearance would necessarily be the deciding factor, anyway, Derek reminded himself, since the kanima had taken on a reptilian appearance when most writings had it as a jaguar. Still, they had an ever-growing list of possible creatures, and no method of narrowing it down.

Sighing, Derek jumped down from the warehouse he’d been prowling around in a fruitless attempt at catching Gerard’s scent. Nearly every day he had been out working a wider and wider circle of the area around where they’d last seen Gerard. The black blood only led so far, and the scent of Gerard had already started changing, so that Derek didn’t know what to scent for anymore.

He decided to give up for the day and head home, maybe grab some groceries on the way in case Stiles showed up for more researching. The boy had taken to his new role as an alpha just as quickly as he adapted to everything, and hardly a day went by when he wasn’t at Derek’s or convening with the rest of the pack. 

The pack which continued to grow, thanks to Stiles and his efforts. Scott was a tentative new addition, and Lydia had agreed as soon as Stiles even started to ask. Granted, she generally required Peter to not be in her presence, but they were thus far able to work around that. Stiles had even been handling the correspondence with The Alpha Pack, which had started arriving in the mail as soon as Derek had an official place of residence. Evidently, there was a meeting to take place next Wednesday at five. Stiles insisted that Derek wear something nice.

His phone began to vibrate, so he pulled it from his pocket, expecting it to be Stiles. Instead the screen read “Father-in-law,” which had Derek frowning in confusion.

“Hello?” he asked into the device, pausing in his step.

“Derek? This is John. Ah, Stiles’ dad.” 

Derek bit his lip to hold back his laugh, and instead cleared his throat to respond with a very level: “Oh? What can I do for you, Sheriff Stilinski?”

“Call me John, please. I figure if you’re er…alpha partners?...with my son, we should at least be on a first name basis. He’s part of your family now, right? So that makes you part of ours.”

And that casually spoken line left Derek’s throat tight and his eyes stinging as if staring too hard at the sun. He cleared his throat again, this time out of necessity, and managed a “Thank you, John. I appreciate that,” which was not nearly so level, and may have possessed a few cracks and chips. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you’re free to take a little trip with me to Orkney Springs. They started having reports of sick and dying animals, and eventually whatever it was spread to the people. Over half the town’s sick, and all testing on the water supplies have turned up nothing. Might just be me, but I’m thinking this is the sort of thing you two have been searching for.”

Derek grinned wide and sharp just thinking about finally finding Gerard and taking him down for good. “That sounds _exactly_ like the sort of thing we’ve been trying to find. Meet you at the station in five.”

___________________________

Orkney Springs was to the west of Beacon Hills, but still within Beacon County. It only took them about forty minutes to get there, but the _stench_ started when they were still a few miles out. John glanced at Derek as soon as the younger man began to wrinkle his nose and then cover the lower half of his face with his hand.

“What?” asked John. “What is it?”

“It smells like…I don’t know. Like rot? Like someone stacked a bunch of rotting vegetables and corpses on a giant pile and put them out in the afternoon sun on the hottest day of the year. A bit like that. Though maybe with some vomit and shit in the mix.”

John’s mouth pressed into a thin line and his hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly the leather wrapping creaked. “Lovely. So I’m assuming that means we’re on to something here?”

Derek tried to nod while also stretching his shirt collar up enough to cover his mouth and nose. 

Glancing again at the young man, John started to look a little concerned. “You gonna be okay? If the smell is too much for you, I can take you home and conduct the investigation myself.”

“No, no; it’s fine. I’ll be fine. It’ll just take a little getting used to, but I’ll manage.” Derek tried to convey the truth of his assurance with his eyes, but he suspected that his efforts were foiled by the way they were watering. “So, you really think they’ll believe I’m a water treatment expert?”

John hummed noncommittally and gave a tiny shrug. “They’ll believe me, even if you don’t quite look the part. We’ll just tell ‘em I pulled you away from your day off or something. Don’t worry.” He frowned as Derek let slip a choking gag and removed his jacket to use it to cover his face as well. “Though, they might think it a bit suspicious that you can’t stand the scent of waste, even before getting to the treatment plant.”

“But it’s not even the water. I can tell that right now, without having to go look around some treatment plant and pretend to know what the hell I’m looking for. Can’t we just say I’m a doctor or something? Go check out the patients?” 

“Huh. You know, that’s not a bad idea. Though, you do seem a bit young…”

“Just say I’m like Doogie Howser and got my degree when I was a teenager or something.”

“You know who Doogie Howser is?” 

“Yeah, I’m not _that_ young.”

“That show came out before Stiles was even born.”

“Well, yeah. I’m older than Stiles.”

John was frowning again, casting so many glances at him that Derek worried the man was going to run off the road. “By how much?”

“Um. Does that matter?”

Derek watched in confusion as John seemed to be debating something with himself, but yet never answered the question. The remainder of the car ride was tensely quiet, and Derek focused on trying to get used to the stench instead of worrying about whatever the Sheriff was thinking.

___________________________

It wasn’t at the hospital or the water treatment plant or the local police station that Derek sensed it. No, all of those places reeked of it, yes, but they only held the victims, those touched by whatever pestilence had followed in its wake. It was as they were heading out to the Orkney Springs reserve that Derek scented the beast itself.

“Stop the car,” he ordered, feeling his teeth growing in his mouth and his eyes already seeing the world with less color and yet somehow more detail in the shadows. “Stay here, and if you see something come out of the woods that isn’t an animal or me, leave. As fast as you can.”

He didn’t wait around long enough to allow the Sheriff to answer, but he heard the “I’m not going to just leave you!” all the same.

The stench was strongest here, to the point that it was nearly overpowering despite Derek having grown accustomed to it all day. Mixed in amongst the putrid odor were the smells of sickness and blood and death. A trail had practically been cut out of the thick forest, where trees had become decaying husks and animal corpses lay either shriveled and dry or bloated and sticky with congealing blood. All Derek had to do was follow the trail, but he made sure he kept down wind of it, whatever _it_ was. Whatever Gerard had become.

The sounds alerted him first, and he ducked low, keeping to what underbrush was left alive and able to offer cover. Whatever it was, it was crouched beneath a tree that Derek watched slowly die and blacken and twist in on itself. 

The creature breathed like an emphysema patient choking on tar, the sound so painful that it nearly made Derek clear his own throat in empathy. Inching closer, he saw that it was eating, each swallow sounding more like convulsive gagging. Something deep in the woods was less stealthy than Derek, and the sound of a branch cracking had the creature’s head shooting up, angry and startled. As if the smells and sounds of the beast weren’t enough, the sight of it made Derek want to retch, and he had to choke back the rising burn of vomit. 

Skin was bubbling and peeling off of the beast like old wallpaper, exposing wet muscle and thick veins pumping viscous, black blood. If the beast was Gerard once, no one would ever be able to tell, its body so perverted and grotesque. Its hind legs were no longer human, but looked somewhat like those of a horse. Most of the skin was already gone from them, leaving them red and raw. 

With a jolt, Derek realized that although the beast was sitting up, human-like head turning about in search of that stray sound, he could still hear the sounds of it feeding on its kill. Quietly as he could, he moved to get a better view, then immediately wished he hadn’t.

Coming from the beast’s abdomen were two extra leg-like appendages, looking only partially formed and moving uselessly against the torn deer splayed out on the forest floor. Worse than that was the freakish, half-formed horse head extending from just above them, stretching to reach the kill and gnashing at it with very un-equine, sharp teeth.

Derek must have made some sort of sound, some sort of gasp in his breath or even the involuntary gag he’d done his best to suppress, because the beast snapped its human-like head around to stare right in his direction. The face was nothing but muscle and bone and wide eyes so black they looked like deep holes. It seemed to spot him somehow, because its face contorted in outrage, and then it was bellowing a screeching roar. Black bile spewed forth from its huge, gaping mouth, wilting and killing every plant caught beneath its putrid rain.

Derek could not get out of there faster if he had wings.

Sheriff Stilinski was waiting for him by the road, pistol drawn and eyes on the dark woods. When Derek burst from the trees, John seemed to nearly smile before noticing the look of abject terror on the young man’s face and the way he was running like a bat out of hell.

“Get in the car!” yelled Derek, waving his hands in emphasis. “Go, go! We need to _go_!”

John did not need to be told twice. He had the engine up and running before Derek could even get in and fasten his seatbelt. “What?” John asked as he shifted gears and peeled out of there. “What is it?”

“Found Gerard,” Derek replied, gripping the handle over the door with one hand and the center consol with the other. The Sheriff may have the wheel to hold on to as he sped around all the tight corners, but Derek needed more than just a seatbelt to keep him in place. 

They passed a local cop car, so John hit his lights just so he’d look like he had an excuse to be speeding. “So, do you think he’s behind what’s been happening here?” he asked Derek before drifting around a sharp curve. 

Derek hoped that Sheriff Stilinski wouldn’t be too angry at him for leaving claw marks on his center consol. “I’d say so, yeah.”

“Well?” John turned away from the road to give Derek an expectant look, but thankfully turned his eyes back to the task just as quickly. “What the hell was he? It?”

“Hell if I know, sir.” Derek glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see the beast chasing them, but of course nothing was there. “Stiles might, though.”

John nodded, finally easing up on the gas a bit once they were on the highway out of Orkney Springs. “So I guess that means I shouldn’t wait up for him again tonight, right?”

Retracting his claws, Derek calmed himself and settled back into the seat. “If there’s a specific time you’d expect him back, I can make sure he gets home by then.”

With a huffing chuckle, John shook his head and gave Derek a rueful grin. “I’m not sure what to make of you, Hale. But, you’ll look after my boy, right? Keep him safe.”

“Of course, sir. He’s pack. The other alpha.” Derek looked curiously at John, wondering why it was so hard for the older man to understand. Okay, granted, he _had_ arrested Derek in the past under suspicion of murder, but Stiles had totally cleared that up with him by explaining the whole _werewolf_ thing. 

“Yeah, about that.” John grimaced a little while keeping his focus on the road. “So, after our little chat that day, I did some reading… Wolf packs are run by two mated wolves.”

“I’m not sleeping with Stiles,” Derek quickly denied, then nearly bit his tongue as he worried over it being _too_ quickly. Composing his face into one of complete neutrality, Derek strived for an air of total professionalism. “Werewolves are different. Because we’re also human.”

“Uh-huuuh. But human families are _also_ run by two romantic partners.”

Derek glanced out of the window and thought wistfully about how easy it would be to just jump out and make a run for it. “It’s… We’re not a real family. Our pack. Not by blood.”

“There are many human families that bear no blood relation. Adoption, in fact, is quite common, especially amongst families with same-sex partners.”

“Why are you pressing this?” Derek finally snapped. “Do you _want_ me to be sleeping with your under-aged son?”

John darted him a quick glare. “Not necessarily, no. I’d just rather everyone be honest with me from now on. I’m tired of all the lies.”

“Stiles already told you everything.”

“ _Every_ thing?”

“ _Yes_.” Groaning, Derek began to rub at his temples. He was starting to see where Stiles got a lot of his personality traits from. “He is _sixteen_.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then John said quietly, all humor—and, hell, Derek just realized that most of that had been teasing, had been a _joke_ —gone from his tone. “I notice that you have only been objecting based on his age. Not that he’s male or not your type or anything like that.”

Derek clenched his jaw and once again considered making a break for it. 

John quietly pulled into a rest area just outside of Beacon Hills, put the car in park, and turned to give Derek his full attention. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” When Derek refused to answer or meet the Sheriff’s eye, John tried again but with a sterner voice. “Derek, what exactly are your intentions towards my son?”

“Nothing,” denied Derek, meeting John’s stare squarely and unflinchingly. “I’ve no intentions towards him whatsoever.” _Yet_ , a traitorous voice whispered. 

“Yet?” asked John, as if he could read Derek’s mind, and Christ but that was a terrifying thought.

“No, sir. I—” Derek sighed and slumped back against the seat. “This is all moot, because any potential interest on my part is just that: on _my_ part. Not only do I have no intention of getting involved with a high school kid, but he already has Lydia.”

John’s look melted into one of pity, and he finally turned away from his intent study of Derek’s reactions. “Just be responsible, the both of you, whatever happens.”

“Sir, nothing is going to—”

“ _Whatever happens_.”

The rest of the ride back into Beacon Hills was just as quiet and tense as the ride into Orkney Springs, and Derek spent it mostly trying to figure out if he’d just gotten John’s blessing to start something up with his son. At least it was a handy distraction from the horror in the woods.

___________________________

Lydia was in his house. Derek could smell her before he even got to the door, and he paused on the steps, doing his best not to crush the grocery bag cradled in his left arm. He told himself that it was fine, because she was pack, and so she was allowed. Stiles had explained to Derek about what Peter had done to her, having managed to get the entire sordid story out of the girl even before she became pack. Which she was now. Pack. She was pack. It was okay.

Stiles was there, too. Of course he was. Lydia wouldn’t just come into his home alone, even if she did have a way in. Which she didn’t. Only Stiles and Isaac had spare keys. 

They were laughing together about something to do with the OCD tendencies of strigoi, which meant they were probably doing research to determine what the Gerard Beast was. It was fine. Totally innocent and fine. Besides, Stiles’ crush was entirely one-sided. Lydia was far too deeply in love with Jackson. For whatever reason.

Not that it mattered to Derek, even if Lydia and Stiles were dating. It wasn’t his business. Had nothing to do with him. He was just letting his strange conversation with the Sheriff earlier get to him. That was all. 

Derek continued to tell himself that as he finally entered his home and made his way silently past the giggling teens and towards his kitchen. Stiles was up and after him in an instant, hovering at Derek’s shoulder until he set down the grocery bag, then putting the contents away as if it were his own house. For a moment all Derek could do was stare, then he clenched his jaw and turned away to get the pots and pans he’d need to prepare dinner. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, man,” said Stiles, as if it wasn’t Derek’s house and thus rare to find him there. “We got a truly strange letter from one of The Alphas today that I really need to go over with you, because I honestly do not get it. Like, at all. So I figure it’s weird werewolf culture stuff, and us muggles are out of the loop. Also, I got a call from Dad asking if you told me yet about where you guys went today and what you saw. Said it had to do with the Gerard Beast. So, I got Lydia to come over and help research once you spill all the juicy details.”

Derek grimaced at the word “juicy,” remembering the slimy, skinless muscle and blood of the creature. “Yeah, I saw him. It.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, and when Derek continued to be silent, he waved his hand in a jerky “go on” gesture. “And?”

“It’s in the process of transforming, I think. Its skin was mostly gone, and a demonic horse head and legs were sprouting from its front.”

“Um. What?” 

“Also, it’s making everything and everyone it touches or gets too close to sick. So far only a few humans have died from the illness, and those were elderly or had pre-existing health problems. A lot of animals have died, though, and he also kills plants.”

Dropping the can of crushed tomatoes to the counter, Stiles whirled around on Derek and grabbed his upper arm. “Did you touch it?”

“What? No. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I think you’re reckless,” spat Stiles, fingers digging harder and brown eyes looking nearly gold beneath the bright kitchen lights. “I think you rely far too much on your advanced healing powers, that it makes you do really dumb things.”

Derek stared at him, not sure quite what to say to that. He tried to come up with an argument, but even in his head he could hear Stiles shooting each one down with irrefutable evidence. “I didn’t go near it,” he said instead of denials. “I’ve no intention of touching it. Just because I’m immune to all natural diseases, it doesn’t mean I’d be immune to supernatural ones.”

Strangely enough, that didn’t seem to comfort the boy. Stiles’ grip went lax and he stared at Derek in mute horror. 

“Then how do we kill it?” Lydia asked from the doorway, startling the men away from each other so fast that Stiles bumped his elbow into the counter and Derek rammed his back against the corner of the cooking island. 

“Fuck,” hissed Stiles, rubbing his elbow and glaring at Lydia as if she’d intentionally injured him.

Ignoring his own pain, Derek stepped forward and gently took Stiles’ arm. He touched the elbow softly, leeching away the hurt until Stiles stopped grimacing and was looking at him in something akin to wonder. In that moment Derek was glad that neither Stiles nor Lydia were werewolves, and so couldn’t hear the way his heart tripped over itself. Frowning, he dropped Stiles’ arm and stepped back, trying to look like it was nothing, no big deal. Like he was unaffected by the realization of his impulse, of what it said concerning his priorities. Tried to act like he was unaffected by Stiles.

Shit.

Lydia cleared her throat, large eyes darting between the two of them with a speculating gleam that Derek did not like at all. “So? How do we kill it?”

Derek was unable to keep the sneer off his lips when he replied. “We should maybe find out what it _is_ first, then we can figure out how to kill it, I think.”

“He’s right,” said Stiles, rubbing his elbow that should no longer hurt, and trying to give Lydia his full attention while glancing far too long and frequently at Derek. “He’s rude, but he’s right. At least we’ve got a description to go on, now.”

“And we know it’s related to pestilence,” agreed Lydia, eyes turning upward as she considered the information. “I think that, more than anything, will help narrow it down. I mean, we came across a few things that were portents of doom and gloom, but I don’t think there’s too many things that actually cause disease.”

“Good,” snapped Derek, shoving Stiles aside so he could get to some of the ingredients still left out on the counter. “You two go work on that and I’ll get dinner started. I’m assuming you’re staying, Lydia?”

She smirked and let out a little hum, eyeing Derek as if she could read him like a book, even if he was one that tried to make itself indecipherable by being written in archaic Latin. “You’d be wrong, then. I’ve got a massive essay for English to compose, so I’ll just be taking this.” Lydia held up a flash drive and gave him a little wave with it. “My own copy of your bestiary. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” shrugged Derek, barely glancing at her as he started cutting the bacon and heating the pan. “More penne ala vodka for us.”

“Oh, you are _evil_ ,” she hissed with a playful glare. “If you really want me out of your way, you shouldn’t tempt me with delicious pasta.”

The knife slipped and sliced his finger open. Of course the wound healed almost instantly, but he tsked and tossed the knife in the sink before grabbing another one. He knew Stiles would bitch about dirty knives otherwise. “You are more than welcome to stay.”

“Of course I am. But I am also a very considerate person.” She smiled at them, lips glistening with gloss and hair falling in such perfect fucking waves, and Derek knew she was a good addition to his pack but he really wished Stiles had never asked her to join. “Good night, boys.”

“See you tomorrow, Lydia,” was Stiles’ distracted reply. Turning, Derek saw that Stiles had given up all pretenses and was blatantly staring at him, lips parted.

“What?”

Stiles’ mouth snapped closed, and he shook his head with a careless shrug. “Nothing. Just never was on the receiving end of that weird pain-relieving power. It’s handy. And weird.”

Derek grunted in reply, even as he mentally berated himself for the caveman act, and tried to go back to focusing on dinner. For some reason, though, Stiles didn’t leave. He put away the rest of the groceries, then just stood there, leaning a hip against the counter, and watched Derek work. Eventually it became too much, and Derek looked up from the sizzling bacon to snap an impatient “ _What_?”

“Are you angry that I invited Lydia into the pack?” Stiles asked, studying Derek with such unsettling scrutiny that it even put Lydia’s earlier looks to shame. “Because we talked about it beforehand. I distinctly remember talking about it, actually, because I had to break my super-new-best-buds oath and spill all the details about Peter fucking with her head. Which we already knew he’d done, just not exactly to that extent. And, seriously, we need to have a talk sometime about what we’re going to do about Peter, but that can wait. Right now I want to get back to Lydia and why her presence just now has made you a pissy little shit.”

The bacon nearly burnt, and Derek sneered at it as he removed it from the heat. Then he turned his sneer at Stiles. “I invited her to stay for dinner. How is that being pissy?”

“You didn’t greet us at all when you came home. Just breezed right by us with a ‘Fuck you’ air. Your tone with her, even while she was being friendly and playful, was blatantly rude. _And_ ,” he said, arching a brow, “you’d been glaring at her as if her very presence offends you.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve not been a bouquet of fucking roses tonight, but I’ve had a bit of a shit day,” Derek snapped, moving to fill a pot with water and set it on the burner to boil. “Being subjected to the worst stench of my life for hours, and then getting threatened by a mutant beast with no skin were not exactly high on my list of things I ever wanted to experience in my life. To top it off, I got to have your father give me some sort of awkward-as-fuck _talk_ about my intentions towards his under-aged son, as if there was even a goddamn _need_. So excuse me if all I want is to make some fucking dinner and then go to sleep, and don’t really want to have to play pleasant host.”

Derek was nearly panting by the end of his rant, and only belatedly realized he’d maybe said a bit more than he’d intended to. Stiles was staring at him with wide eyes, either stunned by all the information or simply that Derek put so many words together at one time. Slowly, though, that stunned look melted into a scowl, and the sharp, metallic tang of embarrassment and anger overpowered the smell of bacon in Derek’s nose. 

“Gotcha.” When Stiles spoke, his body was vibrating, and Derek tried to tell himself it wasn’t shaking. That Stiles wasn’t shaking. Because Stiles was stupidly brave, even if he bitched and was actually terrified out of his mind. Wasn’t that what bravery was, though? To be scared as fuck but do it anyway, regardless. So maybe Stiles was shaking, but that didn’t matter, because he was still being stupidly brave despite it. “Sorry to have ruined your plans for the evening, then. It was rude of me to assume that I could just come over, I get it. I understand. Key is only for emergencies, not to just let myself in anytime I fucking feel like it. No problem.”

There wasn’t a chance for Derek to stop him as Stiles stormed out, barely pausing to gather his things before slamming the door. Well, there _was_ a chance, because Derek was a werewolf and was thus faster than Stiles. But, there wasn’t a chance. Not really. Because Derek was too busy staring at the spot Stiles had been standing, wondering what he’d just done and if there was a way to rewind time and fix it. 

He looked at the dinner he was making, at how much there was because he’d been expecting (anticipating) making enough for Stiles. Derek didn’t roar and throw the pan of bacon against the kitchen wall, but he was tempted. So very tempted. He had more control than that, though. Instead he continued making the dinner as planned. After he ate his fill, he’d put the rest into the fridge to give to Stiles later. 

There was an open letter on the dining room table (“You have to get a place with a dining room and then also a dining room table, Derek, because the pack needs a good place to gather and discuss things. Doing that around a table while sharing a meal is the best way.”). Sitting down with his bowl of pasta, he pulled the sheet of paper closer to read while he ate. What he read had him choking on penne.

It was addressed to Stiles, from one of The Alphas, just as Stiles had told him earlier. The first part was typical enough, welcoming him as a fellow alpha and extending an offer for advice and support should he ever need it. Further down, however, it offered up congratulations, and asked if there had already been a ceremony or if one was in the works. It never specified what type of ceremony, but Derek didn’t think it was the sort of thing that happened when his parents were passed the titles. His mother had gone through a ritual involving the rest of the pack acknowledging her as the alpha instead of his great-aunt, but his human father hadn’t needed such an affair. Stiles wouldn’t, either, so Derek knew that wasn’t what was meant. 

Derek balled the paper up and threw it against the wall like he had wanted to do with the frying pan. What the letter had implied wasn’t a necessity for the alphas of packs, just common practice. He was _certain_ his mother had told him about at least one pack that had non-married alphas. Granted, she’d mentioned them with as much disdain as she did The Alpha Pack, but that didn’t change the fact that they were a thing, that they existed and functioned and were possible. 

As he ate the rest of his pasta in that lonely, silent house, his mind was loud with the echo of Jackson’s voice. _“So, I ask again: are you getting married?”_

______________  
To be continued...


	4. Use Your Prey's Impulses to Your Advantage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the answer to how long I can make it before they just start having sex against walls: evidently four chapters.
> 
> I'm not even sorry.

When Derek answered the door the following afternoon, his bright eyes were wide and hopeful and sad, so that he looked a bit like a lost puppy begging to be taken in. Stiles, however, refused to be swayed by that look, steeling his nerves and sharpening his glare even as he shaped his lips into a mockery of a grin. Beside him Scott shifted from foot to foot, glancing between the two alphas and obviously unsure about letting himself be dragged along.

“Stiles,” breathed Derek, lips parting to continue—maybe apologize or maybe curse. Really, Stiles didn’t care.

“I realize,” Stiles broke in, talking over Derek and feeling his grin ache from how hard he was forcing it, “that what I did last night was not exactly conducive to a healthy co-alpha relationship. You were tired and traumatized—both from skinless beasts and fathers suggesting unsavory things—and I should have understood that. Storming off does nothing to help build trust and understanding. So, as a token of my sincerest apologies, I got you this.” He held up the potted cactus he’d been holding in front of him, and watched in amusement as Derek seemed to just notice the plant. 

“You got me a cactus.”

“It’s a sex toy, actually,” corrected Stiles as he shoved the pot into Derek’s hands, then pushed him aside to let himself into the house. “Figured you could use it to go fuck yourself.”

Scott let out a laugh that quickly got masked by fake coughing, undoubtedly because Derek was shooting him death glares. “Sorry,” Stiles heard his best friend whisper to Derek, probably figuring that the human was too far away to fully hear. “But what did you _do_?” Stealthily glancing over his shoulder while pretending to set up his laptop and rummage through his backpack, Stiles saw Scott giving Derek wide, curious eyes. 

“I yelled at him,” Derek whispered back. He wasn’t even looking at Scott, just frowning at the cactus and glancing over at Stiles.

“But, you guys _always_ yell at each other.”

“Yeah, but I…” and there Derek trailed off, as if he wasn’t even sure what exactly he’d said to set Stiles off. Not that Stiles expected Derek to really know. How the fuck would he know how deeply it would cut Stiles to be told flat out that there would never be anything between them. Stiles already knew that, had accepted it, but to hear such disgust powering the words “as if there was even a goddamn _need_ ” was a bit more than he could handle.

“If you two are done flirting,” Stiles called, slamming a worn hardcover book of Scottish folklore down onto the dining room table, “I thought we might discuss what to do about the nuckelavee, aka Gerard Beast.”

Derek was at the table in an instant, absently setting the cactus aside to focus all his attention on the printouts and map that Stiles had splayed out across the wood. “You figured out what it is,” he confirmed, but it sounded more like a statement than a question. 

Stiles answered him in the affirmative anyway, nodding his head and handing over a printed image of the creature. “It’s most commonly found in Scotland. A skinless creature that looks like a man’s torso coming out of a horse. It lives in the ocean, and at times will come to shore and spread blight and pestilence. So, I was _way_ off in my earlier theories, but at least we’re no longer stumbling around in the dark.”

“They were good theories, though. I don’t think anyone would have instantly jumped to… _this_. Fuck, that looks pretty much like he did, yeah.” Derek wrinkled his nose and passed the picture back, and Stiles took it while trying to look unaffected by Derek’s compliment.

“How do we kill it, though?” Scott asked, approaching the table to stare down at the pictures in morbid fascination. “Weren’t you telling me that you didn’t want any of us touching it?”

Nodding, Stiles pulled the map closer and whipped out a pencil. “We’ll have to take it out from a distance. First, of course, we’ll have to corner it so that we can predict its movements.” He marked exes around Orkney Springs, with a particularly large one in the place his father had described to him last night. Then he grabbed a highlighter and popped the cap off with his thumb before dragging it along the river Kelda that cut through the woods just to the west of the giant ex. 

Derek and Scott crowded in around him on both sides to watch what he was doing, and he began to explain all the markings, pointing to them with the highlighter. “So, judging by the pattern, it’s been working its way west. Obviously it didn’t really start to develop into what it is enough to cause any harm until it was a bit closer to Orkney Springs, then it really hit its stride. Or, hell, this could still all just be the opening performance and we’ve yet to see the main event. After all, Derek said that it was still only partially formed. 

“In any case, the nuckelavee needs the ocean, and it cannot tolerate fresh water. Won’t even cross running fresh water by way of a bridge. That means we’ve got a bit of time, since if he continues on his current course, he’ll be running right into Kelda. He’ll be forced to go north.” He set the highlighter aside to grab back up the pencil and make a little trail. “Unless he suddenly gets way faster in his movements, I estimate we’ve got at least a week, maybe two, before he gets around Kelda and has a relatively clear break for the ocean. Granted, it’ll still be a few more days before he’ll reach the shore, but he’ll be harder to contain.”

“What’s to stop him from going south instead?” asked Scott, squinting at all the markings.

“Nothing.” Stiles shrugged, then ran his finger along the entirety of Kelda. “It would take him way longer, though. While these things aren’t exactly human-level intelligence, they aren’t complete animals, either. I’m willing to bet there’ll be enough of Gerard left in it to know that north would be the best route.”

“Yeah, but if he follows the river south, it’ll lead him to the ocean. Doesn’t he want to get to the ocean?” Scott truly was adorable when he got that little crease between his brows. 

Unable to resist, Stiles reached out and pressed the tip of his finger to that crease, smirking when Scott drew back in shocked confusion. “I’m so proud that you know that about rivers, Scott, but you’re sort of missing the point. If he followed the river it would triple the amount of time and distance he’d have to travel just to make it to the shore.”

“Not to mention,” added Derek as his eyes devoured the map in a way that would suggest the formation of plots and schemes, “that he’d be uncomfortably close to fresh water the entire time. If he’s really so intolerant of it, I can’t see him wanting to prolong his exposure.”

“Exactly! See, I knew there was a reason to keep you around besides the view.” Stiles grinned and slapped Derek on the shoulder. Beneath his hand, Derek’s muscles tensed, and his eyes froze to stare sightlessly at the table. Stiles felt his grin slip away, his hand slowly following suit. 

The atmosphere around the table shifted back to the tense awkwardness he’d arrived with, and Stiles grimaced. “Sorry,” Stiles said, low and dark and bitter. “It was a joke, man, so calm the fuck down. I’m not going to make a pass at you or try to jump you or anything. Christ.”

“That’s not—” Derek straightened and turned to face Stiles, and his eyes were wide and vulnerable like when he’d answered the door. It was confusing as fuck, and Stiles felt like someone trying to watch a movie spoken in a language they’d only had one basic lesson in. 

Whatever Derek was going to say, he bit it back, his focus shifting to Scott. When the older man next spoke, Stiles could tell he was trying to sound warm and friendly even if it came across as a little constipated, instead. “Scott, while your presence is always welcome here now that you are pack, I’d like to have a moment to discuss alpha business.”

Scott shrugged and motioned for Derek to go ahead. “Sure thing. I’ve got some homework to do, so you guys can just, like, talk shop or whatever until it’s time to head home.”

Stiles bit his lower lip to contain his laughter, and Derek gave up all attempts at being nice. “Scott, go home. I want to talk to Stiles alone.” Well, Stiles supposed Derek was still a little nicer than he could have been. If it had been Stiles, he’d have said “Fuck off.”

His best friend did not obediently jump to following Derek’s orders. Instead, Scott looked at Stiles and raised his eyebrows to silently ask if that was acceptable. He’d been dragged along in the first place so that Stiles could use him to punch Derek if the need should arise. 

“It’s ok, man,” Stiles assured, waving Scott away with a resigned slump of his shoulders. “I’ll call if I need you.”

“I could stay close,” suggested Scott. “That way you just have to literally call for me, and I’ll come kick his ass.”

Derek snorted, and Stiles smacked him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Shut up, or I’ll take him up on that.” After getting a scowl from Derek, Stiles looked back to Scott. “No, just go home. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Fine.” With one last, distrustful glare at Derek, Scott was gone.

“So,” said Stiles once they were alone, dragging the sound out as he turned to give Derek his undivided attention.

Instead of talking, like he said he wanted to do, Derek turned away from Stiles and walked over to the far wall. He bent down and picked up a wad of paper, slowly uncrumpled it, then handed it to Stiles. It was the letter from Alpha Frederik, who seemed pleasant enough in his correspondence, unlike a few of the others had been once they found out he was human. “Isn’t it illegal to fuck with people’s mail?”

Derek looked at the wrinkled paper, then mulishly up at Stiles. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have them sent to _my_ house.”

Stiles bristled at that, crumpling the paper himself as he clenched his hands into fists. “Right, yes, of course, I forgot. Just because I have a _key_ doesn’t mean I have open access to the place. I _got it_.”

“No.” Derek looked mildly distressed, and he scrubbed at his hair in frustration. If Stiles had been less pissed, he’d probably find the resulting gel-crusted mess hilarious. “No, that’s not what I meant last night and that’s not what I meant now. Just now I was being sarcastic, and last night I didn’t mean _you_ , I meant—”

“Lydia. Yeah. I picked up on that, remember?”

“Right.”

“She’s pack, now, though, so you should probably stop being such a dick to her.”

“I don’t want to talk about Lydia right now, Stiles.”

“Well then, what _do_ you want to talk about?” Stiles lifted up the pretty much ruined letter. “Maybe why this perfectly harmless letter pissed you right the fuck off?” When Derek didn’t say anything in response and just stood there with his face screwed up like someone was slowly crushing his balls, Stiles huffed and smoothed the paper back out to reread it for clues. “This was what I was going to ask you about last night, actually. Thought maybe you could tell me what sort of ceremony he meant. Like, is there a ritual to recognize me as an alpha? Is that it?” A sickening thought came to Stiles and he snapped his attention back to Derek. “Wait, are you having second thoughts about me being the alpha? Just because of _one fight_?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Derek replied, sounding just as pained as he looked. “I wouldn’t have approached you about being an alpha if I didn’t mean it completely, without any doubt in my mind.” He exhaled long and shaky, eyes suddenly unable to meet Stiles’. “That’s not the sort of ceremony he was talking about.”

“Well, then what?”

“A marriage ceremony, Stiles. He was asking if we were already married or if we were still making the arrangements.”

“What?” Stiles could do nothing but stare agape at Derek, trying to figure out what marriage had to do with anything.

“It’s tradition,” Derek explained, unknowingly answering Stiles’ mental questioning.

Stiles slowly shook his head, anger rapidly overcoming his confusion. “No,” he insisted. “No, you specifically said this deal did _not_ include bonding or mating.” He may have started seeing Derek in a more-than-friend light, but that didn’t mean he was willing or ready to _marry_ the man. 

“It’s optional,” Derek quickly added, holding his hands up to ward off the explosion he no doubt saw building in Stiles’ heated expression. “I don’t expect you to let the alpha position dictate whom you’ll spend your life with.”

“Damn right! Fuck’s sake, I’m too young to even _think_ about settling down. Maybe _you’re_ at that stage, but personally I think I should have at least had my first date or first fuck before tying myself down to anyone. No offense. I mean, hell, I could certainly do worse.” He waved his hands out to indicate all of Derek. Then realized he was rambling and saying a bit too much, and snapped his mouth shut while restraining his arms by crossing them over his chest.

Derek looked like a fucking kicked puppy, and Stiles had no idea why, and it was bugging the fuck out of him. “It’s okay, I get it. I never expected you to want that, which is why I hadn’t brought it up before. We’ll just tell The Alpha Pack that we don’t have that type of relationship. While rare, it does happen.” There was a slight pause as Derek seemed to consider something, his frown deepening. “It will probably count against us, but still.”

“ _Christ_.” Stiles fell into one of the chairs at the table and buried his face in his hands. “Why did you even ask _me_ for this? Why couldn’t you have just found some hot young thing to fall in mutual love with and make your stupid werewolf babies together?”

The chair was jerked away from the table and Stiles was rudely hauled back to his feet by Derek’s ridiculously strong hands. “You think that’s what’s important? Hell, if that was the case, I had someone back in New York. We were together nearly two years, before I ended it when I came back here. We still keep in touch, and he’s made no secret of his desire to pick things back up right where they left off.” Stiles’ mind stumbled over Derek’s use of the masculine pronoun, his breath rough stones in his throat and landing painfully in his lungs. 

Derek didn’t care if Stiles was having a meltdown, if his entire worldview was being [table-flipped in slow motion](http://youtube.be/eob7V_WtAVg%E2%80%9D). “If that was all it took to make a strong pack,” continued Derek, fingers digging into Stiles’ shoulders and eyes so goddamn intense, “I’d fly out there now and tell him about everything. He’d probably accept it and say he loved me anyway and agree to the role. Because he’s _like that_. He’s kind and gentle and forgiving and accepting and _not what I need_. I need someone who’s fierce and cunning and sharp and brave and calls me on my bullshit. Goddammit, Stiles. I need _you_.”

“ _You_ need me?”

The hands on his shoulders suddenly let go, and Derek stumbled back a step, eyes slightly panicked. “The pack,” he tried to correct, but it was a thin, flimsy lie. “The pack needs you.”

“Derek.” Stiles licked his lips and watched the enlightening way Derek tracked the motion with his eyes and swallowed so thickly it made his Adam’s apple jump. “Why did you ask me to be alpha?” he asked again, feeling like maybe he knew the answer. Like maybe pieces were coming together in a strange-as-fuck picture that wasn’t at all the same as the one printed on the box.

“I just told you,” said Derek, trying to make it sound like an impatient snap. The effect was ruined by the way his gaze kept drifting back down to Stiles’ moistened lips. “You are what the pack needs.”

“Right. Derek, you knew about this marriage tradition, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but like I said, it’s _optional_.”

“Uh-huh, and how frequently were there alpha partners that weren’t also romantic partners?”

Derek looked askance and scratched at the back of his neck. “It happens. Sometimes.”

Heart trying to break its way free of his ribcage, Stiles moved to close the scant distance between them. He felt high with the realization that for once he wasn’t suffering something impossible and unrequited. Sure, he was still terrified of the idea of marriage and permanence, but it was hard to focus on that when he was too busy being distracted by filthy, filthy thoughts. Derek breathed in deep through his nose, then looked at Stiles in a shock that melted to dark eyes and parted lips. 

“We’re doing all of this on a trial basis, right?” said Stiles, watching as Derek breathed in through nose and mouth at once, like he’d seen cats and dogs do when they were trying to get as much of the scent as possible. “So we’ll tell The Alpha Pack that due to my age, we’re holding off on the marriage aspect of things. Just dating for now.”

“We’re dating?”

Stiles reached out and grabbed the front of Derek’s shirt, twisting the dark grey fabric tightly in his fingers for a secure grip. “Sounds a bit more appropriate than ‘fucking like the horny teenager one of us still is.’” 

Derek let out a choked sound that bordered on a whine, and Stiles tossed the remainder of his restraint aside. He pulled Derek in by his shirt, grinning at the fact that the supernaturally strong werewolf just _let him_. Their first kiss was shit. They bumped noses and Stiles wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his tongue. But then Derek was gripping Stiles’ jaw and showing him exactly how it was done, and Stiles was groaning like an old ship in a storm. When Derek tried to pull away, eyes alert with concern and clearly broadcasting “What the fuck have I done!” Stiles growled and pulled him back in for more. 

“You’re too young,” Derek tried to protest, even as his knees buckled a bit when Stiles nipped at his bottom lip. “I can’t—we shouldn’t—I told your father—”

“Let’s not talk about my father right now, please. And if I’m old enough to help lead your pack, I think I’m old enough to do this with you.” He grinned against Derek’s lips before nipping at him again just because he very much enjoyed watching the man’s eyes roll back in bliss. “Or more. We could totally do more.”

Like a switch had been flicked, all protest fled Derek’s lips, and he used them for far more enjoyable pursuits. Fingers gripped at Stiles’ sides, bunching and stretching the fabric of his second favorite Batman shirt, but Stiles would let Derek fucking _shred_ it if it meant they didn’t have to stop. He felt himself pulled forward as Derek stepped back, until they came up short against the wall with synchronized oomphs. 

“Is this really happening?” Stiles asked, rocking his hips forward while Derek lifted his from the wall to meet him. Their dicks found each other through denim and celebrated by making both men jerk and groan and press closer. “Fuck, this _is_ happening.”

Derek was mouthing at his neck, hands moving from Stiles’ sides to his ass to pull him tighter. “Are you sure?” he asked against Stiles’ skin, words hot and wet and punctuated with the nip of blunt teeth. “This isn’t too much too fast?”

Stiles’ hysterical laughter was born and died on a trembling exhale while he panted against Derek’s ear. “Would it help if I told you how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you?”

In response, Derek bit Stiles’ shoulder and slid their hips together in a way that was borderline painful but still oh so fucking good. “What did you think about?” Derek asked, lips and tongue teasing at the sweetly-tender bite as he spoke. 

“Oh shit, really? Really? You want me to speak dirty to you? Derek Hale, you pervy little shit, where have you been all my life?”

“New York.” Stiles felt a tugging at his waist, and didn’t realize until he heard metallic clinking that Derek was one-handedly working open his belt.

The zipper was weirdly loud over their panting, and then fingers that weren’t his own were touching Stiles’ dick. They still had a thin barrier of boxers preventing skin-on-skin contact, but those deft fingers sought out the hole in the front until finally, _finally_ it was smooth skin and heat and best of all _not his own hand_. “That’s right,” Stiles breathed, trying to maintain the banter even as he rocked into Derek’s awkward-angled grip. “In New York. Fucking someone else.”

“And getting fucked.” That voice, _fuck_. Since when did Derek have such a sultry voice? Derek wasn’t sultry. Derek was smirky and sassy and snarky but he wasn’t fucking _sultry_. “Did you ever think of that, Stiles?” Teeth nipped at Stiles’ ear, and the hand that had remained on his ass moved away to places unknown. “When you looked at those pictures of me, what were you thinking?”

Shit. Shit fucking god _damn_. Well, if Derek wanted Stiles to talk about his fantasies, Stiles would fucking dictate to him a goddamn _novel_. “Licking your dick through those thin fucking briefs until you were too much for them to contain, head sticking out over the elastic and wet with my spit and your precum.” The mystery of where Derek’s hand had gone was solved as he managed to get his own fly open with his non-dominant hand, and drew out his cock to rub against Stiles’. “ _Fuck_ yes. Sometimes I think about doing this, too. Like we’ll be out in the woods and you’ll slam me up against a tree and, fuck, it’s pretty much this entire moment right here, only our positions reversed.”

Derek groaned and wrapped his fingers around both of them, tilting his head to watch. Stiles did the same, faltering in his rambling as he stared, mesmerized by the sight. “Christ, I want to fuck you so much,” Stiles whispered, voice shuddering and raw. 

“Yeah,” said Derek, working them faster and tighter and smearing the precum of each along them both. 

“But not right now.” Stiles didn’t think he’d be capable of making it that far just then, already feeling close to the breaking point. “Later. As many times you want.”

“Yeah,” repeated Derek, and his fingers spasmed as he stroked.

Then there was no more talking, because Stiles was coming, and it was deeper and harder and so much better than anything he’d managed on his own. It didn’t matter that Derek wasn’t in the position to provide the best grip, or that it was a little dry. His dick had been rubbing against _Derek’s_ , had been jacked by _Derek’s_ hand. 

Eyes barely focusing, he watched as Derek spread Stiles’ cum over his own cock and continued stroking himself. The wet head kept bumping Stiles’ belly where his shirt had ridden up, and the thought of Derek wanting to shoot all over him had Stiles’ spent dick show flickers of life. Derek gripped the back of Stiles’ neck with his free hand and dragged him into a desperate, open-mouthed, sloppy kiss that was all gasping breaths and wayward tongues and zero coordination.

When Derek came, his body shuddered and his mouth was pressed, opened wide, against Stiles’ chin. Stiles was covered in spunk, both his and Derek’s, and he could feel a bead of sweat trickle a ticklish trail down his spine, but he didn’t care, because Derek Hale just gave him a hand job. Fuck, Derek Hale just pretty much confessed to having _feelings_ for Stiles. Of the marrying sort. 

And wasn’t that just a bucket of cold water right after having hot wall sex?

“We aren’t getting married or anything,” Stiles insisted, lungs almost recovered enough to provide sufficient air for his voice. “But we can keep doing things like this for now.”

Derek nodded against his shoulder, wet, sticky hand tracing idle patterns in the mess on Stiles’ stomach. “I got you the first time. Don’t worry.”

“I need a shower.”

“This place has two. Feel free to use either.”

“I’m going with the master bath. It has that bench thing in the shower.”

Bold brows scrunched together in confusion, Derek lifted his head from Stiles’ shoulder to ask him, “Why do you need a bench?”

“Because I’m going to look at it and plot out all the ways we can utilize it, now that we have a fantastic new facet to our relationship. Hell, now that we _have_ a relationship. At least, I’m assuming we do?”

Derek kissed him, then smacked him teasingly on the ass. “Come on, let’s go shower.”

“‘Let’s?’”

“One of the perks of being a werewolf is that we are _almost_ as quick to recover as teenaged boys. Now move it, or I’m not going to show you exactly what I’d like to do with you and that bench.”

Stiles forgot that his pants were undone and nearly tripped in his haste. Judging by the smile on Derek’s face as he followed, though, Stiles supposed he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself. Or maybe it was just that Derek didn’t care, because of all those _feelings_.

Which, Stiles knew deep down he was probably going to freak out over more later. Much later. When he was home alone in his bed, still aching and tingling from everything they’d try tonight, and surrounded by a room that screamed his youth back at him. He’d lay there asking himself if the choice to pursue a temporary relationship with Derek was cruel to the older man. He’d wonder if it was really going to be temporary. And, of course, he’d wonder how he could possibly fucking know what he wanted and needed out of a life partner, when he still didn’t even know what he wanted out of his life.

\---------------

To be continued…


	5. I Can't Do This Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I realized belatedly that the wrong draft got posted...oops. Sorry, should be fixed now.

Stiles looked amazing, leaving Derek standing speechless as the boy breezed into his room. He was wearing black slacks and a fitted dress shirt that was a deep, rich red. Derek looked down at his own charcoal grey shirt and wondered if he would be too drab beside someone like Stiles.

"Is that a tie you're holding?" Stiles asked, eyes widening a bit. The color of his shirt was picked up in his eyes, turning the usually golden brown to rusty hues. It was like a fading echo of the alpha red, and Derek just knew that it was intentional on Stiles' part. "Are we supposed to wear ties?" He lifted his hand to his unbuttoned collar, worry creasing his brows.

Derek frowned at the tie in his hand. It was just as boring as the rest of his outfit, and wouldn't even add a splash of color. Might as well go without. He always hated ties; they made him feel like someone was slowly choking him to death. "I suppose not. They did say only semi-formal, right? I think that means we can go sans-ties." Emphasizing his point, he tossed the tie carelessly in the direction of the small trash can by his bed. 

Grinning, Stiles moved closer and reached out to unbutton the top two buttons of Derek's shirt. "Good. You rock the disheveled look rather well."

"I don't look disheveled," Derek objected, smoothing down his shirt self-consciously.

"We can fix that." Stiles waggled his brows at Derek, grin turning devilish. More buttons on Derek's shirt were freed, Stiles' nimble fingers working their way down the line. "We've got some time."

Derek couldn't withhold the soft whine in the back of his throat, nor the way he leaned closer. "Scott's arriving any minute, Stiles." It was difficult to continue objecting, however, when Stiles began running those damn fingers along Derek's chest. Objecting became absolutely impossible once Stiles' lips found Derek's collarbone. 

"It's your own fault," Stiles sighed against Derek's heated skin, before following up the words with a long, slow lick. "You wanted to court a teenager who can't stop thinking about sex. You'll just have to deal with the consequences of your actions."

With a slanted, devious grin, Derek put his fingers beneath Stiles' chin to get him to stop his ministrations and meet Derek's gaze. "How about this: if you behave yourself now, and we get through this thing unscathed, you can stay the night. You can tell your dad that you're staying at Scott's."

"Or that I'm staying with you." Stiles grinned up at him as he slid his hands into Derek's parted shirt to drag deliciously along his torso before gripping Derek and pulling them into a tight embrace. "He already knows we're together."

Cold fear trickled down Derek's spine like ice water, the resultant shiver making Stiles pull him closer still. "You told him?"

"Derek." Drawing back enough to get a clear look at the older man's face, Stiles gave him a disappointed scowl. "I'm pretty sure he figured it out after that first night, when I came home still wet from a shower and weak-kneed from coming so much I lost count."

Thinking about them in the shower was not helping Derek's resolve to get Stiles off of him so they could make themselves presentable for The Alphas. Speaking of... "How many people are coming to this thing tonight?"

Stiles made a face at his abrupt change in topic, but finally gave in and stepped away from Derek. "Not really sure. It kind of just kept growing and growing, until now it's like this big meet-and-greet. There's going to be at least three Alphas, each with at least one beta, but then there will also be alphas and betas from a couple of our neighbor packs."

Searching through his sock drawer for two that matched, Derek gave a little grunt. "That's not a bad idea, actually. We might be able to get someone willing to help us with the Gerard Beast."

"I know, right? If one of the packs there is located west of us, they could be just what we need to track and corner him." Stiles was beaming, eyes flashing with excitement. "And Lydia is going to be spending the evening researching ways to kill it from afar. Pretty sure she mentioned something about homemade napalm." He waved a hand about dismissively, and Derek snorted while he sat on the edge of his bed to tug on socks and shoes. "Should be fine."

\------------

The event hall wasn't terribly big, but it was by no means small. There were already about a dozen people standing about, mingling as they sipped champagne and nibbled hors d'oeuvres. Champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Derek glanced down at his outfit and wondered if he should have kept the tie.

"Oooo, champagne!" Stiles' long fingers wriggled in the air like spider legs as he started to step towards one of the servers bearing a full tray. 

"No." Snagging Stiles by the collar, Derek returned him to his side and tried to give him a stern look. "You're too young."

Instead of pouting, Stiles' grin stretched thin and wide across his face. "But not too young for you to stick your tongue-"

"Stiles!" Derek seethed, barely resisting the urge to smack his hand across the boy's lips to keep him quiet. Beside them, Scott was making noises that sounded as though he was torn between laughing and gagging.

Smirking in self-perceived victory, Stiles reached out and snagged a flute as a server passed. When Scott also grabbed one, and Derek made no protest, Stiles scoffed with affront and motioned adamantly towards his best friend as if to say "And why aren't you telling _him_ no?"

Derek glanced at Scott, then shrugged. "It's not like it can even do anything to him."

"I like it," declared Scott, taking a large sip. "Sweet, but not too sweet. Plus it's bubbly."

Stiles took his own sip and made an approving sound in the back of his throat. "Way better than what they served at my cousin Bert's wedding, that's for sure."

The server, noticing that only two of the three had gotten drinks, swung back around to offer one to Derek, who took it with a murmured thanks. Derek wondered if the staff were hired, or if they were also werewolves. Listening in to the conversations around him, it was obvious that everyone was comfortable with talking pack politics in front of the staff, so he doubted they were random, hired humans.

"They're from my district," said a strangely-lilting male voice at his side. Turning, Derek found himself face-to-face with an older man who looked more like he'd be a werefox than a werewolf. His orange hair looked windswept and wild, and was going grey around the temples. He was long and thin, from his stature to his nose, and his eyes were a brown so dark they seemed nearly black. "You must be Derek Hale. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere. You're mother, through and through. Ah, but with your father's eyebrows and penchant for not shaving, I see." Smiling wide and warm, the man extended his hand. "I'm Alpha Frederik. Pleasure to meet you, my boy."

Recognizing the name as the one who wrote the letter that asked about marriage, Derek managed a polite smile and a quick handshake. Stiles was a bit more enthusiastic, sweeping in to snatch up Alpha Frederik's hand as soon as it was freed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Stiles." They smiled at each other even as the handshake ended, and Derek was glad that he had Stiles there to be diplomatic enough for the both of them. "I want to thank you for your welcoming letter. It's good to know that I'm not going to be instantly hated just because I'm human."

Frederik flipped his hand back and forth. "Pish posh. Anyone here gives you guff over that, you tell me. Plenty of packs have had human alphas over the generations. The Hales aren't alone in such a tradition. In fact..." He trailed off, looking about, before his dark eyes gleamed and he nodded towards a small cluster of people on the far side of the room. "Those are your neighbors to the south-east. Kincades. They have a werewolf and a human alpha, same as you."

Stiles made a surprised little grunt and glanced between Derek and the group. "Any relation?" 

Derek frowned as he tried to recall if there was any link to the Kincades. It was entirely possible, since they were so close geographically. He could also see where Stiles would think that, once he got a good look at the family. The man who appeared to be the father, and thus likely one of the alphas, had black hair, fair skin, a strong jaw, and strikingly pale blue eyes. Two of his three children bore his features, what looked like his eldest son and his only daughter. His wife looked less like the Hales, and was probably the human one of the two. Her skin bore a warm, healthy glow, and her long, wavy hair was rich brown. Her grey eyes looked far more normal and human, and not nearly so bright. Their youngest son took strongly after the mother, except there was something about him that reminded Derek more of the father than the ones with similar coloration. 

"I think there might be a branch crossed somewhere in their family trees," supplied Frederik, looking as though he was also trying hard to recall. "Alpha Tenno will know. Or, rather, her scribe."

"Scribe?" Stiles and Scott exchanged a look, which ended with Scott shrugging, and Stiles looking back at Frederik. "A scribe?" he repeated, as if he was suspecting Frederik of fucking with him. Derek snorted softly into his champagne flute.

Frederik smiled and nodded, so damn friendly and genuinely nice that Derek didn't think he could ever fully trust him. "Or records keeper, if you'd rather. I called her a secretary once, and got _such_ an evil eye from Tenno. Didn't go over better when I tried to correct it with personal assistant. Evidently, she takes that beta's position quite seriously."

"Huh." Stiles shrugged it off and turned back on his smile. "Speaking of betas, how rude of me to neglect my best bud. Frederik, this is Scott McCall."

Derek barely paid attention as the three started chatting, taking the time instead to observe the rest of the room. There were a few that he thought he could almost identify based on vague recollections of his youth. Most were complete strangers to him, and probably from The Alpha Pack or too new in their positions for Derek to have met when he was a child. A short, lithely-muscled man with olive skin and curly black hair in a ponytail caught his eye, smiling invitingly as he blatantly checked Derek out. 

Shaking his head dismissively, Derek turned back towards his own little group. He stepped closer to Stiles and placed his hand possessively at the small of his back, smiling back when Stiles flashed him a warm grin before focusing on his discussion with Frederik. 

Unfortunately, they were forced to mingle a bit more, Frederik leading them to other clusters and introducing everyone. Stiles was obviously having a field day, and Scott even seemed to be intrigued by all the new werewolves who seemed to live calm, normal lives. Derek was just bored and restless, and itching to get out and continue focusing on the Gerard Beast problem.

Frederik's sudden, pleased exclamation coupled with the wave of murmurs sweeping the room had Derek's attention snapping back to the people around him. He turned to follow their glances, and saw a woman approaching with a small entourage in her wake. "Nice outfit," she said to Stiles, smirk growing as she watched him look from his own red shirt to hers and grin back. Her outfit was nearly identical to his, except for a black suit vest, and all of it was obviously male in cut and style. It made her look androgynous in her beauty, her face free of any make-up and her long black hair pulled back into a tight braid. 

"This is Alpha Eva Tenno," Frederik introduced with a flourish of his hand. "Any naturally-born werewolf would recognize the name of the famous Japanese pack, but what you may not know is that her father was from a great German pack that is nearly as old." He grinned wide, black eyes twinkling in the dim event hall lighting. "Alpha Tenno and her husband are the current head Alphas, their district being the most prosperous at present. It is truly an honor to have her join us today."

Tenno offered him a gracious smile and small inclination of her head. "It's good to see you again, Frederik. Your betas seem to be doing a fantastic job." She motioned towards the servers darting about the room. Then she turned back to Derek and Stiles, her hazel eyes taking them both in as a private little smile flitted over her lips. "You must be the Hale Pack alphas. Or, is it still being called that, since I've heard there is no marriage?"

Stiles shifted his stance restlessly and cast Derek a glance which seemed to suggest that Derek take that question. Hesitating, Derek said, "That isn't something we've decided on, yet. We're both the last of our lines, and I don't think either of us likes the idea of our family names being lost."

"You could always hyphenate," suggested a pretty blond girl standing just behind Eva's left shoulder. She was holding a digital tablet in one hand and using a stylus to tap at the screen intently. When she looked up from the screen, her dark blue eyes were filled with friendly warmth, and her smile was genuine. "Also, hello! I'm Krysti, one of Eva's human betas."

"And I'm Gunter, Eva's brother," greeted a tall man with dark honey eyes and straight black hair brushing against broad, muscled shoulders. 

Derek, Stiles, and Scott introduced themselves, smiling politely and giving low nods of respect. Once the pleasantries were finished, Eva glanced over her shoulder at Krysti and said, "Why don't we go ahead and get the audit out of the way? Then we can just relax and enjoy the rest of the evening." 

Before the guys could reply, Krysti was stepping forward and clearing her throat. "To be honest," she started, frowning a little and flashing Derek an apologetic look, "at first we thought we'd have to dissolve the pack. Derek Hale was obviously not prepared for his new station, and seemed ill-suited to the task. His greatest action as alpha was to find a partner who was far more capable. The human who goes by Stiles Stilinski has shown great promise as an alpha. He convinced Derek Hale to obtain a safe and comfortable home for their pack. He brokered a treaty between his pack and the local hunters, the Argent family. He has begun the legal processes necessary to grant their beta, Isaac Lahey, the status of emancipated minor, so that he may fully move out of foster care and into the pack home. He has instigated mandatory martial arts and meditation training for the betas, so that the newly-turned werewolves will learn more control. He has made it so that local law enforcement will be working in conjunction with his pack, so that they can keep their territory safe without revealing the truth of werewolf existence. He has increased the ranks of his pack, saving an omega in the process. And, of course, he served as liaison with The Alpha Pack, to ensure that this audit went smoothly. In short, Stiles Stilinski has proven to us that their pack is well-managed, and that they will successfully protect their territory and our secrets. For now, he and his pack have been approved. If, however, Stiles Stilinski should ever cease being an alpha for this pack, another audit shall take place to determine if the new alpha will serve just as effectively in his stead, or if Derek Hale will by that point be competent enough to serve alone."

Stiles slipped his hand into Derek's and gave it a little squeeze. "I don't plan on going anywhere," he assured with a wide smile. Derek tried to smile, too, and everyone else in the room seemed to buy it except Stiles, who squeezed his hand harder before rubbing his thumb soothingly along Derek's knuckles. And, he realized with a jolt, except Alpha Tenno, who stared steadily at Derek as if looking through his flesh and bone and into his very soul. 

Her expression instantly shifted, a smirk forming as she glanced pointedly to the side. Derek followed her glance, then looked around at the rest of the room, as he realized that there were quite a few young--and likely eligible--people staring at Stiles with hunger in their eyes. Of course. It made sense that Stiles would now be seen as a prize partner, after hearing just how amazing he was at being an alpha. Feeling more possessive than he had any right to be, Derek used Stiles' grip on his hand to pull the boy closer and draw him into a kiss.

As Stiles gave a surprised little grunt, Derek slipped his arms around the human's waist and licked at the seam of Stiles' lips until he was alowed entrance. Derek listened to the disappointed grumbling around the room more than he did the celebratory cheers from those who assumed the display was in reaction to the favorable verdict. 

When they finally pulled apart, Tenno was staring at him again, her features broadcasting mild amusement though her eyes seemed dark and almost sad. "It's a lucky thing," she said softly, her voice nearly swallowed up by the din as the room broke into renewed chatter, "to find an alpha partner whom you also love."

"Isn't that tradition?" Stiles asked, and Derek was glad it was him. It would be more forgivable for a human to be ignorant of tradition. Derek felt he had a pretty solid understanding, but he worried over making himself look like a fool in front of the Alphas due to being hazy on one or two details.

Tenno smiled, but it was thin and transparent. She glanced surreptitiously around them to ensure that everyone else was distracted. Frederik was chatting animatedly with Gunter and Scott, and Krysti had been pulled aside into a conversation with the eldest Kincade boy. Tenno's eyes lingered a bit on those two, before she focused again on Derek and Stiles. "Traditionally, yes, and traditionally, no. It is no different than it is with human marriages. Traditionally some marriages are based on love, but some were political or convenient or part of a business deal. It is no different for werewolves and alphas."

Stiles looked as if he was processing the information, chewing absently at his lip as his eyes stared off into middle space. Derek wanted to run his fingers along Stiles' cheek, down his neck, along his shoulder, all in an affectionate, assuring caress. He kept his hands at his sides.

Stepping closer, Tenno pitched her voice even lower, to the point that Derek knew Stiles would be straining to hear. "Traditionally, The Alpha Pack judges more harshly those who are un-wedded alpha partners. There are a few exceptions, but usually it was an unspoken requirement." Derek felt Stiles stiffen at his side, and he balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. Tenno was eyeing them both closely, reminding him more of a hawk than a wolf. "I am not in agreement with this requirement. I want you two to know that I shall not change your score if you decide never to marry each other, or even find other romantic partners. So long as you remain business partners and continue to run the pack effectively, I really don't care who you marry." Her eyes came to a stop once they'd fully snagged Stiles' gaze, and the two remained locked in a look for a significant moment. "I just wanted you two to know."

Then she was walking away, a professional smile stretching her lips as she greeted people. Derek watched her go, watched as she spoke and laughed and carried herself like a true politician. 

"Stiles, my boy! Come, come!" Frederik returned to their sides just to walk Stiles off towards another part of the room, completely ignoring Derek as he did so. "I found out who exactly you should talk to concerning your beasty problem in the west. You'll need to speak with the Hayes pack." He led Stiles to a tall, broad man with salt and pepper hair sticking out of a weathered baseball cap that contrasted starkly to his neatly-pressed clothes. 

Derek watched them for a while, wondering if he should have tagged along, as well. He turned his attention to Scott, who had been pulled into a discussion with another pack that Derek didn't know. Eventually Derek gave up and wandered towards one of the high tables set along the walls. No sooner had he pulled himself up into one of the ridiculously high stools, when Tenno was suddenly across from him, popping up into her own seat.

She grinned at him across the small table, and it was more real than any of the plastic smiles she'd had on display when making the rounds. "I wanted to tell you that you don't fail entirely as an alpha. Just in case Krysti's reading of the report led you to believe that." When Derek just glared dully back, Tenno's grin tugged into a wide smirk. "We've been monitoring you since before you asked Stiles. Things were a bit crazy, but it wasn't entirely your fault."

"Two of my betas left," he deadpanned, reaching out just in time to snatch a glass of champagne from a passing server.

Tenno gave a single little nod in concession to his point. "True. They're in my district, now, if you're wondering. We've been giving them updates, so that they may decide if they'll feel safe enough to return. Erica seemed especially impressed by Stiles brokering a treaty with the Argents. I'm fairly sure she's interested in returning, and is just trying to talk Boyd into joining her."

That made Derek happier than he thought it would. It was a strange feeling, like someone opening a little box inside his chest and unleashing something bright and warm that took away some of the weight and pain. "That would be nice," he said softly, watching the bubbles of his champagne. "Tell them they are always welcome here."

"I will."

They fell silent after that, Tenno snatching her own drink, and the two of them taking to people watching. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, and Derek got the impression that this was what Tenno would prefer to do at parties--sit off to the side and observe instead of be forced to mingle. Despite obviously having been groomed to be an alpha, and evidently pulling off her job well if she and her partner were the Alphas of the Alphas, she seemed not to care for any of it very much.

At one point, she started talking, and her voice was again quiet and private, as if she knew that the others of her so-called "pack" would not entirely approve of what she had to say. "We are werewolves, Derek," she said, "and no matter what language you say it in, it means 'person' and 'wolf.'" Those weren't exactly revolutionary statements, so Derek took a slow sip of his champagne and gave her his full attention as he waited for the point. 

She stuck her finger in her drink and started to draw something onto the white tablecloth, fingers making strokes like a brush. "One of the words for it in Japanese is ohkaminingen, which also combines 'wolf' and 'person' together. Here," she pointed to the character that looked like two lines curving into each other, propping each other up. "This is 'person.' When I was little, I used to think it looked like a person. I told my grandfather that one day, while he was teaching me my kanji. He smiled at me and patted my head and said, 'No, Eva, that is not a person, it is two people. They are leaning against each other, supporting each other. Because no person can stand alone.'" She paused, staring at the character as its shape bled away while the champagne was absorbed by the cloth. "I used to think those were two legs, but they aren't. They are two people coming together to make one. Each person is one of the legs." 

When her eyes looked up into Derek's, he thought he saw a flash of red. "There can never be only one alpha, Derek. A pack cannot stand on one leg." She turned her head to look straight at Stiles where he stood on the other side of the room. "You chose a perfect compliment to you. We have watched him start to draw out your potential." Releasing a slow breath, Tenno closed her eyes. "We know you were never meant for this position. It is usually very difficult for a beta to adapt if they've had no training." She slitted her eyes open and looked up at him, her head tilted slightly down and away. They were shrewd, honest eyes, and Derek had no doubt that she was able to lead her district with the sort of ease that most would envy. "You've done better than anticipated. It isn't as one-sided as the report made it sound." She lifted her hands up and pressed her fingers together to mimic the character she'd written. "You support each other."

Across the room, Stiles apologized to the alpha he'd been making strategic plans with as he fished out his buzzing phone from his back pocket. "It's Lydia," he said to Scott.

"What does it say? Is it about Gerard?"

Derek frowned when he heard Stiles' response. "I'm not sure. It just says that I should look back at my first guesses. But, we already know what Gerard is."

"What were your first guesses?" Scott asked, moving close to look over his friend's shoulder and see the message himself.

"Pricolici and varcolac."

"Excuse me," Derek said to Tenno, barely glancing at her as he focused entirely on his human alpha. "I have to go."

Her smile was small, but overflowing in a strange mix of amusement and approval. "Of course. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Alpha Hale." Tenno saluted him with her glass before taking a sip, her eyes gleaming.

The Kincade girl was at Stiles' side before Derek had crossed the room, asking with concern if Stiles had just said "varcolac."

"Yeah," he confirmed, absently passing his phone to Derek once they were side-by-side. The text message was simple and vague, so Derek punched in "why?" and hit send. 

"Has anyone been seeing things? Like, getting trapped in a false reality?" the Kincade girl asked, her pale blue eyes sharp and calculating. When Derek, Stiles, and Scott all snapped their attentions to her with various expressions of shock and alarm, she cursed under her breath and ran a hand back through her black hair. "Let me guess, the person who texted you?" At their nods, she nodded as well, slower and a bit resigned. "She did something, didn't she? Something where her actions were being controlled by another."

Derek looked back down at the phone's screen. There was no reply to his question, and he was starting to suspect there never would be.

"Give me your email address and phone number," the girl demanded of Stiles, passing him her phone. "I've dealt with varcolaci. There's a lot that the books don't tell you." As Stiles dutifully punched his information in, the girl flicked her gaze to Derek and Scott. "Make sure no one mentions anything about this to the one who's been affected. A connection has been made, and until it is severed, the varcolac may be able to see what she sees and hear what she hears. You'll all have to be cautious."

"Wait, wait, wait." Scott waved his hand out between them all, looking from his alphas to the girl, his brows creased. "What are we saying, here? That Peter's this--whatever that is?"

When Stiles passed the girl's phone back, Derek handed Stiles back his own phone. "It's possible. He _did_ rise from the dead," Derek uttered, voice heavy with thought and dread.

"Generally things that do that don't come back as the same thing they were before," confirmed Stiles with a wry smirk Scott's way.

Scott ah-ed in understanding, giving one big nod. "Like a zombie."

"Or a vampire," Stiles corrected, locking eyes with the girl as they exchanged significant, dark looks. 

"Is it possible for him to affect our minds like he's done with Lydia?" Derek asked the girl, earning an impressed little sound from Stiles for having thought of the potential threat. Derek tried not to preen at the human's approval. 

The girl considered for a moment, biting her lip, before giving a cautious nod. "It's possible. Less likely to make as strong a connection with the werewolves of your pack than with your humans, but still possible. Varcolaci are more powerful than even an alpha, but it also depends on how practiced he is and how much he's fed. He'd also need to make a connection with you. How did he make a connection with the girl?"

"Bit her," supplied Stiles, anger flickering like the sparks of a forge within his eyes as he no doubt recalled the incident.

"Then I'm willing to bet he's the soma type. He'll feed upon flesh, and need to use flesh to make the connection. If any of you are bitten, he could potentially tap into your mind and use your body."

"We should come up with a code phrase," Derek said. "That way if we ever question our reality, we have a way of confirming if it's real or a manipulation."

Stiles made another impressed sound and licked his lips before smiling wide. "All that _and_ brains? You are just fucking unfair."

Derek smiled back at him, reaching out and running a hand up and down Stiles' spine before curling his hand around Stiles' hip, just because he was allowed. "So, any suggestions on a phrase?"

"It has to be something that sounds normal," said Scott. "Otherwise, he might catch on to what's happening, if we _do_ use it while under the manipulation."

"Agreed." Stiles nodded as he subtly shifted so that he was standing closer to Derek, close enough that their body heats mingled and Derek could smell only Stiles. "How about the one in doubt says: 'It's been kind of warm lately,' and the response would be 'but it's a dry heat, unlike on the coast.'"

"I like it," said Derek, pulling Stiles even closer with the hold he had on his hip. "Easy enough to remember, and common-sounding enough not to alert Peter." He looked to Scott, who nodded in agreement. "Then it's settled."

Stiles sighed and tilted his head to prop his chin on Derek's shoulder. "I really wish we could finish up with _one_ crazy evil monster before having to deal with another."

"He hasn't done anything since coming back," Derek said in as soothing a tone as he could, fingers stroking at Stiles' side. "Maybe he won't end up being a threat."

The girl made a low humming sound of obvious disagreement. "If he's the soma type, then I wouldn't bank on him remaining docile for long. Varcolaci are insatiable, and the soma type need to constantly feed."

"What do they feed on?" asked Scott.

She looked right at him, her face a beautiful mask over someone worn and wounded by difficulties unimagined. "People."


	6. A Hole Where You Used to Be

Peter was at the house when Stiles and Derek returned home from the meet-and-greet, and he didn't seem any different than usual.  He was raiding the fridge, barely looking over his shoulder at them when they followed the sounds from the front door to the kitchen.  Stiles sighed as he realized that Peter's arrival most likely ruined the sleep-over plans.  Usually the older man would stay away from Derek's house except for when he needed a place to crash for the night.  There was no way Stiles was going to try to get down and dirty with Derek while knowing that Peter was in the house able to hear them.

"You need to make a grocery run," Peter said to them by way of greeting, finally closing the fridge door to turn and fully face them.  "How was the party?"  He seemed genuinely curious and not at all like some nefarious eclipse monster there to devour the town.  Then again, Stiles reminded himself, Peter had done a great job pretending to be in a coma while in actuality he’d been going on a murdering rampage.  

"It was fun," Stiles said with a shrug followed up with a yawn and stretch.  "But exhausting.  I should probably head home."  He turned to get a good-night kiss from Derek, but frowned when he saw Derek not even glancing his way.  Trying not to let it bother him, Stiles reached out and gave Derek's arm an affectionate squeeze.  That earned him a soft look and small smile, but then Derek was turning away again and stepping out of Stiles' reach.  

Warning bells rang distantly in Stiles' mind, but he dismissed them as insecurities and headed out.  It wasn't like Derek didn't want him.  The man had practically admitted he wanted to _marry_ Stiles.  There was nothing to worry about.

It wasn't until he was almost home that Alpha Tenno's words replayed loudly through his mind. _"I shall not change your score if you decide never to marry each other, or even find other romantic partners."_  Holy shit, had Derek seen that as an out?  Had he only talked about marriage and feelings in the first place because he thought it was the only way to keep Stiles as co-alpha?  But, now that they were free to love whomever, Derek wanted them to just revert to business partners?  Was that it?

No.  No, Stiles was being stupid and jumping to conclusions.  There was no way Derek would have used sex and sweet words to manipulate Stiles like that, considering Derek's own experiences with that sort of thing in the past.

Still, when Stiles went to bed that night, his dreams were haunted with scenes of Derek romantically involved with random, faceless people.  He woke up at four in the morning with the words "Why would I want a _child_ like you?" echoing in his head.  Unable to go back to sleep, he spent the rest of the morning Facebook stalking Derek's ex from New York.  Even Stiles knew how pathetic he was being, comparing each photo with himself, but somehow he couldn't help it.

\----------

"You look like death."

"Thanks, Lydia."  Stiles sighed, because even when Lydia was cruelly insulting him she still looked liked a goddess to his foggy, sleep-deprived eyes.  God, he was so not looking forward to dealing with classes today.  Why had he thought it was a good idea to have the alpha gathering on a school night?  If things had gone as planned, he'd likely still be sleep-deprived, but for vastly more enjoyable reasons.  

Lydia tsked and shook her head, glorious strawberry blond curls bouncing.  "Why did you even come in today?  Just go home.  Say you're sick."

"That's not very responsible," he objected bitterly.  "Alphas must be responsible and lead by example."

She just rolled her eyes at him.  "Some example you're setting."  Then suddenly, her snarky demeanor dropped and she turned to Stiles with a serious, worried moue.  "How did it go?  Did you and Derek pass?"

Stiles sagged back against his locker, his Chemistry book a heavy reminder in his arms of the absolute hell he was going to have to endure next period.  "With flying colors.  Evidently, I'm a natural.  Derek not so much.  They pretty much said he probably wouldn't have passed if it-"  Stiles stopped short as a realization slammed into him.  Was Derek acting like that because he was jealous or bitter?  Did he resent that Stiles was a better pack leader than the guy who had been born into a pack?  

"Christ," he husked, rubbing his fingers over the lids of his tired eyes.  "How do you do this relationship shit?"

That made Lydia tense and grab Stiles' arm to lead him further down the hall to where there were fewer people.  "Are you and Derek having problems?" she asked in a whisper.

Honestly, Stiles didn't know how to answer that question.  "I don't know.  Probably not.  It's probably just in my head."

"What are you talking about?" hissed Lydia, even though her big eyes reflected nothing but friendly concern.

He forced himself to meet her gaze and at least attempt to appear to be the strong alpha he was scored to be.  “Nothing.  Like I said, it’s just in my head.  We’re both kind of stressed right now, is all.”  Then he made himself smile and promptly changed the subject.  “I met a pack that can help us with our Gerard Beast problem, by the way.  We’ll be having a joint pack meeting probably either today or tomorrow, so keep your phone handy for updates on that.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes, seeing through his distraction tactic.  Still, she huffed out a breath and nodded.  “Fine.  I have some more information that could potentially help.  While you were out schmoozing, _I_ was hitting the books trying to find everything available about the nuckelavee.”

It must have been while she was researching that she’d sent the text.  Well, part of her had sent the text.  Stiles studied her face and wondered how much of her was aware of the ominous text message she’d sent him the previous day.  What sucked was that he couldn’t even discuss the värcolac stuff with Lydia, who had become his research partner.  

Licking his lips, he ducked his head and asked her in a whisper, “Do you think we should bring the local hunters into this?”

She jerked back as if he’d physically shocked her.  “You mean Allison.”

Stiles’ mouth pressed into a firm line before he gave a slight nod.  “I know all of us have kind of...stopped talking to her-”

“For good reason.  Stiles, she tried to _kill_ Derek and his entire pack,” Lydia whispered harshly. 

“She also used to be our friend,” Stiles reminded softly, feeling a phantom twinge in his chest.  “She was _your_ best friend.”

Lydia clenched her jaw and her eyes glistened as she tried to look firm and unaffected.  “I’ll try talking with her,” she relented with a voice that barely broke.  “If she’s unrepentant, though, I’m not going to try to change her mind or get her onto our side.  We don’t need her, if all she’s going to do is turn on us again at some point.”

“Fair enough,” said Stiles, nodding in agreement.  “I don’t really relish the idea of seeing her go stab-happy on Derek or Isaac again, either.  Or anyone else, for that matter.  Still, if she and her dad have calmed down a bit, they could be a lot of help.”   _Both going up against Gerard,_ thought Stiles, _and also Peter._

“You really think they’ll want to do anything to hurt Gerard?” asked Lydia, looking skeptical.  “I mean, he’s family.”

“Well, if nothing else, then they might want to get rid of the abomination that he’s become.  Something tells me they, as hunters, aren’t too keen on their own kind being turned into something else.”  

Lydia sunk her perfect white teeth into her plump lower lip.  “True.”

\----------

“But why use fire, when the thing hates fresh water?” asked Alpha Hayes, squinting at the map spread out on the table in Derek’s house.  

Trying not to roll her eyes, Lydia pointed again at the highlighted paths.  “Because we need to herd it alongside the freshwater river, trapping it in this ravine here.  And it’s easier to do so with fire, considering we don’t have a way to shoot water at it.”  She tapped her manicured nail on a penciled X.  “Then we burn the bastard to death right here, where it can’t escape.”

Hayes scratched at his grey whiskers and looked to Stiles and Derek before giving an agreeing nod.  “If you all can promise me and my pack will be safely out of harm’s way of that fire, then we’ll have an accord.”

Just as Stiles opened his mouth to answer, Derek surprisingly cut him off.  “I’m sure you know what happened to my family, sir.  Trust me when I say we’ll do all we can to make sure no one is harmed by the fire we’re using.”

That seemed to placate Hayes, and some tension bled from his broad shoulders.  “Alright then.  We’ll meet up with ya tomorrow night, at the appointed location.  I have some of my betas keepin' a distant yet watchful eye out on this critter, and we’ll notify you if it deviates too far off the projected course.”

Stiles and Derek smiled and took turns shaking Alpha Hayes’ hand before seeing him out.  Once the front door was closed, Stiles gently grabbed Derek by the arm to get his attention.  They turned towards each other in the foyer, Derek meeting Stiles’ eyes despite seeming like he’d rather be looking anywhere else.  Breathing in Derek’s scent, Stiles shifted closer with the hope of a kiss that might calm the anxious feeling he’d had all day.  He had meant to speak to Derek, but surely a quick kiss would be fine before getting into heavier things.

“It’s a shame about Alpha Hayes’ wife,” said a familiar voice from the stairs leading down into the foyer.  Stiles and Derek backed away from each other to look at Peter in alarm, Stiles’ hand tightening its grip on Derek’s arm.  Peter took their silence as questioning, so he shrugged from where he was sitting and elaborated.  “She was killed by hunters many years ago.  He never did remarry, so the pack has been without a second alpha for a long time.  I’m surprised he was even allowed to attend your little meet-and-greet, actually.  Though I guess the Hayes pack has enough clout that the Alpha Pack was able to overlook the one-alpha oddity.”

“You aren’t meant to be here,” Derek explained as calmly as possible, while Stiles continued squeezing his arm in a death grip.  “Lydia is here.”

“I’m aware,” Peter responded with a smirk.  “That’s why I stayed out here.  I wanted to be privy to what my pack’s up to.”

“We’d tell you afterwards,” said Stiles.  “It’s not like we were going to leave you out.”

For a moment, Peter just stared at them, and Stiles had to do his best to will his heart to keep a steady beat.  “While I’m sure that’s true, I thought this method far more expedient.  Not to worry, though,” he assured with a chuckle as he rose to his feet and stepped down the last few steps, “I’ll be on my way.”

“It isn’t that you aren’t pack,” Derek tried to console, voice gentle.  Stiles was stunned by his fine acting at first, before wondering guiltily how much this was hurting Derek.  Homicidal tendencies and potential eclipse demon-ness aside, Peter _was_ Derek’s last living relative.

“I know,” purred Peter, deftly stepping around them even as they continued to clog up the entryway.  “I only brought this upon myself, really.  Hopefully someday soon my pack will be able to trust me.”

Neither Stiles nor Derek answered as they watched him leave, and then Derek was pulling away from Stiles’ grip.  “We should head back.  Scott and Isaac are doing what they can to keep Lydia oblivious, but Jackson’s on the verge of murder.”

“Alright.  Just...just a minute.”  He reached out to grab Derek again, this time only managing to wrap fingers around the cloth of his shirt instead of his arm.  Without another word, he pulled Derek in for a kiss.  At first, he felt Derek tense as if about to pull away, but then the werewolf sighed against his lips and kissed back as if helpless.  They stood there kissing until Stiles’ lips were warm and tingling and his cheeks were flushed.  Derek still wanted him.  Thank God.

\----------

“No,” Stiles shouted through the bluetooth earpiece as he watched the events through binoculars at the top of the ridge.  “South!  Not east, south!”  He sighed in relief when he saw the beta werewolves switch course, redirecting the fire.  “Don’t get too close to it,” he reminded.

“What?  The creature or the fire?” asked one of Hayes’ betas over the line.

“Both,” Stiles said, hearing Derek simultaneous exclaim the same.  

“We got it on the run,” Hayes reported, while one of his betas hooted in premature victory.

“Good, but maybe cut back on the fire flow,” said Stiles, turning his binoculars to follow Hayes.  “We don’t want to set the whole forest on fire, and we’ll need some of the fuel for killing the thing.”

“Roger that,” Hayes gruffed back.

It all seemed to be working well enough, from what Stiles could tell.  Hayes and his pack were doing the herding, while Derek, Scott, Isaac, and Jackson were following behind to extinguish the flames before they could spread too far.  Both the fuel for the flame-throwers, and the extinguishing agent were of Lydia’s design, and they were both working perfectly.  Lydia herself had opted to stay home where it was safe.  There had been no sign of Peter, despite his claims to want to be involved.

Gerard was getting so close that Stiles could hear its pained, scared cries and even smell some of its putrid odor.  Soon it would be trapped right against the cliff at Stiles’ feet, and finally terminated.  “It’s looking good,” he reported through the earpiece.  “Almost got ‘im.”

That was when he heard the low growl from behind.  Dropping the binoculars away from his eyes, he spun around to confront whatever it was, only to see what looked like a giant, emaciated wolf-like monster stalking from the darkness.  “Derek,” Stiles whispered, voice trembling.  “I-”

He didn’t get to finish, which made him angry as the pain shot through him and the darkness overwhelmed his vision.  It could have very well been the last chance he would have to tell Derek how he felt.  Fuck Peter for potentially stealing that away, on top of everything else.  He thought he heard Derek calling his name in the earpiece before everything went eerily quiet.

\----------

The first thing he thought when he opened his eyes was _I fucking hate hospitals_. He knew that's where he was, even before the steady beeping filtered into his senses or he could identify the scent of antiseptic and sickness. It was the ceiling. As he opened his eyes and the ceiling came into view, he instantly knew where he was. 

“Stiles?” Scott's voice asked at his side, prompting Stiles to turn his head in order to properly see him. Scott looked relieved, and he was immediately reaching out to carefully grip Stiles' pale hand. “You had us worried, man. It's been two weeks.”

_Jesus_. “Where's Dad?” Stiles rasped out, wincing at the dry scraping of his throat. 

“Probably home getting some sleep, since my mom kicked him out a little bit ago. He barely left your side since you got here.”

Good, so his father was safe. “Derek?”

Watching Scott's face in that moment was like watching a video glitch and stutter. “He,” started Scott, only to taper off as his brows crinkled together in confusion. It was then that Stiles remembered who had turned Scott into a werewolf, and what sort of mental pull Peter had tried to use back then. They had all been so worried about Lydia recently, that they'd completely forgotten about Scott.

_Don't think about it_ , Stiles told himself, giving Scott up as a reliable source for now and intentionally focusing his thoughts elsewhere so that Peter wouldn't know that he knew. “When can I leave?” he asked, drawing Scott's focus back to him and away from his likely manipulated memories. 

“Not sure,” Scott confessed, giving Stiles' hand one last squeeze before rising from his seat. “I'll go check and contact your dad.”

\----------

Although, Stiles reflected later while standing beside the nurse's desk as his father checked him out of the hospital, if Scott had been compromised from the start then Peter had already known that they knew. He'd know that Stiles knew the truth, would have to figure that Stiles wouldn't buy so easily into these little parlor tricks. 

For instance, Stiles' father was telling him that Derek never once came by to see him, and that he didn't know where Derek even was. But he was smiling proudly while saying it, and motioning towards a blank spot beside Stiles as if there were a person there. Stiles figured there probably was. It was probably Derek. 

For some reason, though, Peter wasn't letting Stiles see or hear Derek, wasn't even letting him learn about Derek through third parties. Which was strange. He momentarily entertained the idea of fighting it, of rebelling against Peter's weird manipulations and initiating a stand-off right there and then. Instead, he decided to go with the flow for the time being, maybe try to get a better idea about what Peter was up to. So he let himself feel the lonely, heartbroken bitterness he'd probably feel if Derek had _actually_ abandoned him. 

His dad seemed confused by Stiles' behavior, probably because to John it looked like Stiles was intentionally ignoring Derek. When Stiles sighed out a weary “Let's just go,” John looked at the empty space with a lost and sympathetically insulted expression. 

Stiles was pretty sure Derek didn't follow them home, though he couldn't be definite. It was hard determining the whereabouts of someone you couldn't see. He assumed that Derek wasn't there, however, since almost as soon as they crossed the threshold into the house, John asked if there was something wrong between Stiles and Derek.

“I don't know,” Stiles sighed, not even having to fake that, the doubt from immediately after the alpha meet-up still picking at him. Before his father could ask anything more, Stiles just shook his head and retreated to his bedroom with the excuse of still feeling fatigued. 

In his room, he sat on his bed and stared at his computer desk, not knowing what he could do. His ability to research the problem had been shot, because it would just provide Peter with a heads up. He couldn't even _talk_ to anyone about it. His only hope now was Derek.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, but when he pulled it out the screen was black. Part of his mind realized it was likely because Derek was messaging him. This was such bullshit.

Unlocking his screen, he pulled up his contacts, copied the number of the girl from the Kincade pack, and then texted it to Derek. He included a text message to Derek as well, for Peter's benefit: _Look, I don't care if you're avoiding me or whatever. We still have to run our pack. Someone needs to call her, and I don't think I should do it because I still feel kind of out of it._

A few minutes later, a text from Derek came back, and he could actually see it that time. _Maybe it's better if you stay away for a while._

Staring at the message, Stiles wondered if that was really Derek or if it was Peter manipulating what he saw. It could be either. He just hoped that if it was Derek, it was said out of concern, or because Derek knew exactly what was happening to Stiles. Still, it stung a bit. Just the thought of not being able to be near his pack, his—whatever Derek was to him... It was fucking frustrating. 

Despite having evidently slept for two weeks straight, Stiles crawled into bed, pulled the covers up over his head. His hand moved to the stitches on his side, feeling along the faint bumps. Scott and Lydia had been bitten when Peter was an alpha, before he was killed. Technically, would Peter have been a värcolac then? Or was it not until he was dead and brought back? Maybe he hadn't _actually_ survived the house fire, not really. But then how could he become an alpha and be able to turn Scott?

Maybe, Stiles mused, it was just that once he died and became a värcolac, the connections he had with Scott and Lydia weren't severed, but twisted into something different. Stiles would potentially be the first person Peter had made a link with post-värcolac-ness. He wondered if that would make a difference, if it would be a stronger or weaker link. 

By the time he fell asleep, he was no closer to answering any of his multitude of questions.

\----------

Fear shot through Stiles so sharply it nearly took his legs right out from under him as he ran. It warred with anger, which blinded his vision until all he saw was bright, disorienting light. His throat felt scraped raw, and it was like fire each time he gasped in air. 

“Stiles!” Suddenly Derek was there, the blinding light fading away to reveal his worried face against a backdrop of trees and night. But how could Derek be there? Peter wasn't letting Stiles see him, so how—?

“What the hell happened to you?” Derek asked him, squeezing Stiles' shoulders as he looked Stiles up and down, his worry growing exponentially the more he seemed to take in. “Why is there so much blood? Are you _hurt_?”

No. “Yes.” Stiles frowned. “I don't know.” He looked around. “Where am I?”

“Jesus, Stiles. Come on, let's get you home and cleaned up.”

“No,” Stiles practically screamed, even though it made his raw throat blaze. “Don't. Don't _touch_ me! Stay _away_ from me!” Derek _had_ to stay away. It wasn't safe to be near Stiles.

Derek made a small, wounded sound, only to bury it in a growl before scooping Stiles up and carrying him through the forest. “How did you even _get_ out here?”

“How did _you_?” Stiles shot back, still radiating anger even as he clung to Derek with bloody fingers.

“I followed your scent and the sound of your heart,” Derek replied softly. 

Stiles was silent for a moment as he processed that, trying to somehow keep it stored in the secret files he'd been attempting to keep out of Peter's reach. Maybe Peter wasn't paying attention to him in that moment, anyway, which was why he could see and hear Derek. Finger clenching tighter in Derek's shirt, Stiles took a risk. “I miss you,” he whispered.

He watched as Derek's jaw tensed. “I miss you, too,” Derek whispered back even more softly. 

“I couldn't see you before,” Stiles confessed, still keeping his voice quiet, as if that would even matter. “But you were in the hospital when I was getting checked out, weren't you?”

That seemed to startle Derek, and his arms held Stiles a little closer. “I was.”

“What did Dad say? His words were wrong to me at the time.”

Derek swallowed and glanced down at Stiles before returning his gaze ahead to watch his step through the underbrush. “He was explaining how neither of us had really left your side much, and it figured you'd wait until the two of us left to wake up.”

“Scott's compromised,” said Stiles, figuring that if this _was_ a lull in Peter's monitoring, he should take advantage of it. 

Nodding a little, Derek made a sound of agreement. “Because Peter was his alpha.”

“Yeah.” 

“We'll fix this,” Derek promised, ducking a branch. 

Stiles looked at the blood on his hands, his arms, finally registering just how much gore he was covered in. His shirt was stiff with it. “Do you think I killed someone?”

Derek didn't answer, just carried him cradled in his arms through the strangely quiet night. He brought Stiles to the Stilinski home, not the pack house, which made Stiles a little sad for some reason. John was there in an instant as soon as they came inside, face milk pale once he got a good look at his son. 

Once he was in the shower and the blood was washed away, Stiles felt all over his body, desperate to find a wound to explain all of the blood. The next thing he knew, his father and Derek found him sitting on the shower floor having a panic attack. John talked him through it, helped him breathe and focus, while Derek watched on looking terrified and helpless. 

“I only have a few cuts on my feet,” Stiles eventually husked, breathless, throat still tight from seizing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter to go, folks.


	7. Ashes to Ashes

Derek awoke with a start, scrambling into a sitting position from his makeshift bed on the floor. He let his eyes flash red so he could use his abilities to see in the dark. That's how he spotted Stiles halfway between the bed and the door, shaking his head in exasperation. 

“I'm just going to the bathroom,” Stiles explained, sounding annoyed. “Go back to sleep.”

“I'll wait,” said Derek, shifting to sit more comfortably. He would have preferred sharing Stiles' bed, but he felt awkward doing so while John was in the house. It didn't matter if John knew the nature of Derek and Stiles' relationship, Derek still thought it best if he take the floor. Besides, his purpose there was to make sure Stiles didn't sleepwalk again, not cuddle. 

Stiles didn't say anything more as he slipped out the door and down the hall. Sighing, Derek sprawled back out on his blankets. They didn't know what to do, how to keep a handle on this. The person Derek would have chosen to watch over Stiles during the day was Scott, but he was just as compromised as Lydia. Derek would do it himself, but he had to meet with the girl from the Kincade pack to discuss how to deal with Peter and end this entire clusterfuck. At least Jackson and Isaac could keep an eye on Stiles during school. 

Down the hall, the toilet flushed and the sink turned on. Idly Derek listened to Stiles wash his hands, cut the water off, then start to walk back to his room. When his footsteps changed direction and started heading down the stairs, however, Derek was up and out the door in a heartbeat. 

“Let me go!” Stiles screamed, pushing at Derek and trying to wriggle out of his grip. “Can't you hear him? Dad's in trouble!”

John was suddenly there, having heard the commotion from his bedroom and rushed out to investigate. “I'm right here, Son. Calm down. I'm right here,” he spoke with a calm voice, even as he projected it loud enough to get past Stiles' screams.

Stiles' eyes finally seemed to focus and he managed to register his father's presence, all the fight leaving him instantly. “Is this real?” he asked in a whisper, fingers suddenly clutching at Derek, digging blunt nails into his skin. 

“It is,” Derek whispered back, rubbing soothing hands up and down Stiles' back and holding him close. “We're both here, Stiles. We won't let anything hurt you. You're safe.”

“It's not me I'm worried about,” Stiles choked out, soft and pained. 

When Derek brought him back to bed, he went ahead and crawled in beside him. 

\-----

“They can be difficult to kill,” were the last words Derek wanted to hear. The Kincade girl—Lucy, Derek reminded himself—sat across from him at a diner in a town about halfway between her pack's territory and his. “But it _is_ possible,” she assured, as if sensing his despair. 

“Do you know what he could be trying to use Stiles for?” Derek asked, trying not to sound desperate. He had to let go of his mug or risk breaking it in his anxious grip. 

Lucy sipped her juice and shrugged. “My guess? Someone to blame the murders and disappearances on.”

“The—”

“He's going to have to eat,” she explained, pale eyes showing a state beyond sadness, something that was simply bleak and accepting. “Often. That will start to leave a mark, a trail. Eventually too many people go missing. A few might be classified as murders, if he's too messy and leaves too much blood. It's the sort of thing that would start to send red flags up amongst hunters, unless a perfectly human explanation is offered up.”

“So, he's trying to—what?—pin it all on Stiles?”

She nodded and took another slow sip. “It makes the most sense. He might even have Stiles do the killing, and he just steps in and eats the remains.”

Derek thought about when he'd happened upon Stiles in the woods. All of the blood. He'd been practically drenched in it. And none of it had been his.

“He's only managed to lure Stiles away once,” Derek objected.

“That doesn't mean he won't keep trying.”

Shoulders feeling heavy, Derek slumped in his seat. “So how do we stop him? How do we kill him?”

Lucy seemed a little reluctant to say her next words. “The best way to handle most supernatural things...fire.”

“We burned him once, already,” said Derek, remembering the night he'd had to kill his uncle. To protect Scott from corruption. To end the killing. 

Shaking her head, Lucy looked down at her juice. “There needs to be nothing left. Just ash. And then that needs to be washed away in a stream.”

Derek pushed his untouched coffee aside. “Then we need a plan.”

\-----

“Derek.”

He stopped short and glared at Chris Argent where he stood waiting at Derek's door. “Chris,” he replied, trying to rein in his initial reaction and be civil. Stiles had brokered a truce between them back before he'd even officially accepted being Derek's alpha partner, and it wouldn't do to unravel all of that effort now.

“Isaac contacted me,” Chris explained, stepping aside to allow Derek to approach the door and unlock it. “Said you already took care of my—of Gerard.”

Derek darted him a quick side glance as he got his door open, then motioned for Chris to enter first. “We did. We had considered involving you, but we thought perhaps you wouldn't want to see him like that.”

That made Chris seem to falter a bit, and he was barely into the foyer before he was turning to Derek with a fragile expression that seemed incongruent on the hunter's face. “Thank you.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Derek shrugged and waved Chris towards the living room. “I'm glad you're here, actually.”

Chris seemed surprised by both he invitation to linger and Derek's words. “Why's that?”

“We have another issue. Something dangerous is here in Beacon Hills, and it's affected most of my pack. I'm getting some assistance from another pack nearby, but we could probably use your help, too.”

“What is it?” Chris asked with trepidation as he took a seat on the couch while Derek sat in a nearby armchair. 

“A värcolac.”

All of the color drained out of Chris' face and he reared back slowly. “You're joking.”

“I wish I was.” Derek clenched his jaw and looked down at his folded hands where they dangled between his knees. “It's bitten Stiles.”

“Shit,” Chris whispered, lifting a hand to run across his mouth. “Alright,” he eventually said, looking grim but determined. “Tell me what you know so far, and I'll see what I can do to help.”

\-----

Derek had wanted to be there when Stiles got out of school, but he and Chris took longer than he expected setting everything up in the woods. Neither of them had mentioned Allison or involving her in the plan, and Derek was grateful for that. Maybe someday he'd be able to see her without seeing Isaac crying out in pain as he was repeatedly stabbed, but it was still too soon for that. He and Chris had gotten along surprisingly well, however, even if they rarely spoke. The silence between them was oddly comfortable, as if they were finding their own truce united against a common enemy.

By the time they were done, school had already been let out, and a quick pass by the school on his way home showed that Stiles' Jeep was gone. He didn't see it at the Sheriff's house, either, so he continued on to his own place. Relief washed over him when he found it parked out front, and he pulled his Camaro in beside it. 

When he listened for Stiles' heartbeat and found it pounding out a rapid, panicked tempo, Derek nearly broke his car's door by rushing out and into the house. He found Stiles in the master bedroom, screaming at the empty room as if he were addressing Derek. Tears were rolling down his flushed cheeks, and his breathing was one gasp away from a panic attack.

“How _could_ you!” Stiles bellowed, waving his hand at the bed. “And with _him_?! I thought you said he wasn't what you want!”

Derek stood there behind Stiles, looking around in absolute confusion as he tried to detect another heartbeat. Suddenly he realized Stiles was caught in a hallucination, and the implication of his words struck Derek hard. 

“Is this why you've been kind of distant?” Stiles rasped, all the fury gone and leaving nothing but absolute devastation. “Why you acted like that after the evaluation? Alpha Tenno said it was fine to be with someone else, so you realized you didn't have to pretend to want me anymore? How long until you called him up, Derek?” He gnashed his teeth at blank air, obviously seeing Derek there, and released something between a growl and a groan. 

Reaching out, Derek carefully touched Stiles' shoulder. When Stiles didn't even react, Derek tightened his hold and pulled him closer, wrapping him tightly in his arms. “It's an illusion,” he murmured into Stiles' ear. “I'm here, I'm right here. That isn't me you're seeing. I'm here, alone, with you.”

The sudden arms around him scared Stiles, however, and he thrashed and screamed. “Don't _touch_ me,” he demanded, sounding broken and angry all at once. 

“Not until you wake up.”

“How _could_ you?” Stiles rasped. “After what Kate did to you, how could you fucking do that to me?”

The words shocked Derek back, his arms going slack enough to allow Stiles to burst free. “Stiles—”

“Trial run officially fucking _over_ ,” Stiles yelled as he fled. 

Taking a deep breath through the initial spike of pain, Derek pulled out his phone and shot out two quick texts before bolting after Stiles. 

\-----

Derek had let Stiles think he'd lost him. Or, well, more accurately he had let _Peter_ think that. Instead, he carefully followed Stiles first by car, and then—when Stiles had abandoned the Jeep to plunge into the darkness of the reserve—by foot. Eventually, he could smell Peter, his old familiar scent mixed with something strange and dark ever since he'd returned from the dead. Derek had always thought it was just the lingering scent of death, but he knew now that it was the stench of what Peter had become. In any case, Derek made certain to stay down wind, so that Peter would not be alerted of his presence.

He watched as Stiles trudged along one of the well-used jogging paths, his head ducked down and his hands deep in the front pockets of his hoodie. A girl came jogging down the path from the opposite direction, black hair pulled back to reveal neon green earbuds. As soon as she reached him on the path, Stiles seemed to trip and pull both of his hands out of his pockets as if to brace himself while he fell against her. She reached out to steady him, a sympathetic smile on her face, but then her eyes were widening and she was stumbling back and away from him.

Derek could smell it before he was able to see it in the low light and shifting shadows. Blood blossomed dark red along the girl's side, soaking through her white shirt. She tried to scream, until Stiles wrapped a hand firmly around her throat and slammed her down onto the leaf-blanketed forest floor. Just as Stiles raised the knife as if about to sink the next strike into her chest, a soft click sounded from the trees to Derek's right, and the knife was knocked away by the bolt of a crossbow. 

Stiles turned his head towards the bolt's origin, face twisted in monstrous rage. When he opened his mouth to bellow a roar, the sound was echoed ten fold from the trees behind him. Then, Derek got to see his uncle transformed for the first time since his resurrection.

What stepped from the trees was not a normal wolf, nor was it the monstrous abomination Peter had taken the form of during his brief time as alpha. It was something else, something unnatural in a way that made the hairs on the back of Derek's neck stand up. Large and long, the creature Peter had become looked emaciated and mangy, but also quick and strong and sharp. Again Peter roared, and this time mouths opened from all over his body to release the sound. 

The girl was making high pitched sounds of terror as she tried to scoot away from Stiles and the monster, and Stiles simply stood and let her go as he went in search of the lost knife. Another bolt was released from the trees, hitting Peter in the shoulder but doing nothing more than increasing his fury. Somehow the girl managed to pull herself up, and she tried to limp away as quickly as possible, screaming for help.

That drew Peter's attention away from the hidden hunter, no doubt his insatiable hunger unable to tolerate the thought of his meal escaping. She saw him lunge at her, and the girl screamed as she fell forward, her arms outstretched as she scrabbled her hands through the dead leaves. The girl was able to move another foot forward, even as he descended upon her, pressing down at her with his large, gnarled claws. 

Then, she was laughing.

A twang rang out, followed by a whistling woosh, and then a massive log studded with spikes like a giant rake came swooping from the branches above to slam into Peter's broadside. It sent him hurling off of her, even as it impaled him on the spikes. She continued to laugh as she stood up and brushed herself off, eyes flashing gold. 

Chris used that as his cue to emerge from where he'd been hiding, crossbow trained on the injured värcolac. “Now, Derek,” he ordered through grit teeth.

So Derek stepped out onto the path, one of the flamethrowers strapped to his back that had been used against Gerard. He aimed the nozzle at Peter, who roared again and thrashed until he was free of the impaling spikes. Just as Derek was about to release the fuel, Peter darted over to Stiles. He curled around the boy, gaping wounds quickly stitching themselves together and multiple mouths seeming to grin in sharp-toothed triumph. 

“You can't hurt me,” Stiles spoke for Peter, his expression strangely blank and the bloody knife once again in his hand. “You can't hurt me because then you'd hurt Stiles. And you wouldn't hurt Stiles, right? You wouldn't hurt your co-alpha. The boy you tricked into being yours.”

It hadn't been a trick. Derek never would have forced Stiles into a relationship. If they were ever to be together, Derek wanted it to be because Stiles desired it, not because the boy felt obligated. “Get away from him,” Derek ground out, eyes glowing red at the thought of everything Peter had put Stiles through. 

“I don't think so,” Stiles responded for Peter with a smirk. He lifted a hand up to pet through bristly dark fur, and a tongue came out of one of the mouths along Peter's back to lick at Stiles' fingers. “I'm not done playing with this one. Besides, I need him.”

“To frame,” snapped Derek. “That's not going to happen.”

“But it's so perfect! The troublemaker son of the Sheriff, who always seemed to be around when people were getting killed, and who kidnapped the Whittemore boy. Derek, the kid just makes it so _easy_. And then you go and bring him into the pack, get him closer to me. I really should thank you for that.”

“Thank me by _getting away from him_.”

In his peripheral, Derek could see Lucy slowly sidestepping one way while Chris moved another, the both of them trying to get Peter surrounded so they could attempt a safe extraction for Stiles. Neither of them really needed to bother, though, because in the next minute the knife in Stiles' hand was lodged into the top of Peter's skull.

Before Stiles could fully pull away, Peter was turning his head and closing jaws down onto Stiles' hand. Screaming, Stiles reached out with his other hand to withdraw the knife and plunge it back into Peter's face until the värcolac released him. Stiles stumbled back, his hand torn and bleeding, and yelled: “DO IT NOW!” Then he was running off towards Chris, collapsing to the ground once safely behind him and his crossbow.

Derek growled as he released the fuel in a glowing, fiery arch right onto Peter. He hadn't wanted to be there to see Peter burn a third time, hadn't wanted to smell anymore burned flesh and hair, hear anymore cries of unimaginable agony. He'd witnessed too much of that in his life already. But, at the same time, he knew it had to be him. Once again, _he_ had to be the one to put Peter down, to manage the wayward Hale and restore peace and order. 

He reminded himself of that over and over again as he watched Peter burn, watched the creature rage until the fire burned its life away and all it could do was crackle and crumble into dust. Derek wasn't crying; the ash just got into his eyes.

“Well done,” Lucy whispered once it was all over, the fires safely extinguished and Peter nothing but a scorch mark on the ground. She nodded at Chris, who withdrew some thick canvas bags and a combat shovel. Soon the two of them were scooping the ashes up, so that they could dispose of them properly. “We'll take it from here,” Lucy assured, eyes flicking over to where Stiles was still hunched on the ground before again fixing to Derek. “Go take care of him.”

Unfastening the harness for the flamethrower, Derek let it fall to the ground, then hurried to Stiles' side. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

“Oh goody,” Stiles joked weakly, cradling his shredded hand. “I hope you won't think less of me if I ask you to carry me.”

Derek huffed, a small, sad smile on is lips. “Hardly. What you did took a hell of a lot of strength.” He carefully lifted Stiles up into a bridal carry, getting flashbacks to the other night when he'd found him covered in blood. “It's over now.”

“Thank Christ. I was getting really fucking tired of trying to compartmentalize things in my brain so Peter wouldn't know what I knew.”

Derek blinked and shook his head, though he really shouldn't have been surprised. “You're amazing.”

Stiles didn't come back with any witty retort, just laid quietly in Derek's arms for a while as they moved quickly through the trees and back towards the cars. Eventually, Derek glanced down at his tired and drawn face, and said softly, “What you saw at the house...”

“Wasn't real. I know.” Stiles' words shocked Derek, but he didn't falter in his steps. “I had to make Peter think I thought it was real, though. I'm...I'm sorry about what I said.”

“Don't be.”

“But I am. Jesus, I was a dick. Of _course_ you wouldn't do that to me.”

“No. I wouldn't.”

“Though, I gotta ask,” Stiles murmured hesitantly, glancing up at Derek through his lashes before staring resolutely at where he was trying to stem the blood flow from his hand with his hoodie. “After the evaluation, why were you...”

“I wasn't having second thoughts,” Derek was quick to assure, arms tightening around Stiles for a moment in something like an awkward hug. “Not about having you as my co-alpha or as my...whatever you want to call us. I just thought that maybe _you_ might want to take a step back. You're still so young. There's no reason you should tie yourself down now. Like you said before, marriage isn't exactly something you're considering yet at this age.”

“It's not.” Stiles leaned his head against Derek's shoulder, as if the action could help lessen the sting of his words. “But that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you. No relationship is a guaranteed thing. Maybe this will work out and you'll be my forever guy, and maybe we'll hate each other before I even leave for college. We don't know what will happen, so we might as well not stress over it and just...be. Us. Together.”

They finally got to the cars and Derek didn't say anything as he got Stiles into the passenger side of the Jeep. Then, before he closed the door to walk over and get into the driver's side, he leaned against the frame and locked eyes with Stiles. “Okay.”

Stiles smiled weakly back. “Okay. Now get me to the hospital before I lose another pint of blood.”

Derek huffed a small laugh and leaned in to give Stiles a kiss before moving to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget the epilogue.


	8. Epilogue

“Honey, I'm home!” Stiles yelled as he kicked the door closed behind him and dropped his suitcase to the floor.

“Hi, Snookums!” responded a delighted voice that was far too feminine to be Derek.

“Nooooo. No. No. No. No!” Rushing into the living room, Stiles groaned when he found Erica, Jackson, and Isaac lounging about on the couch and armchairs. “ _I_ was supposed to be the first one back, so I could have happy sexy alone time with Derek!” He tried to ignore how his whining made him sound more like a kid than a college graduate. 

Erica grinned sharply at him and waved her hand in a go-ahead gesture. “Don't let _us_ stop you.”

Jackson made gagging sounds and threw a decorative pillow at her head. “ _Please_ let us stop you. I'm sure you two can wait another few hours before whipping your dicks out.”

“Stop talking about the alphas' dicks,” Derek admonished as he strode in from the kitchen laden with platters of veggies and cheeses and breads. Once he set them down on the coffee table, he turned to Stiles with a wide smile. “Welcome home.”

Stiles grinned back and bounded over to throw his arms around Derek. “And for good this time,” he whispered against Derek's neck. Derek held him a little tighter at those words, and Stiles could feel Derek's smile pressing against his shoulder.

Beside them, Isaac heaved a morose sigh. “I suppose I'm going to have to get used to sentimental reunions happening all night, aren't I?” 

“Bet your cute curly head you are,” Erica assured with a wink. “Though I doubt Boyd and I will be as tame as these two.”

“God,” griped Jackson, “you all suck.”

“Oh, like you aren't going to be all over Lydia when she arrives,” scoffed Erica.

“Guys, I'm here!” Scott called from the foyer. “Oh, hey, this smells like Stiles' bag. Bro, you home?”

“Hey, Scott!” Isaac yelled happily before Stiles could respond, jumping up from his seat to rush to the front door. 

Meanwhile, Stiles and Derek continued to just stand there and hug, pressing chuckling kisses to each other's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> (See? The two of them are standing leaned together, so they're sort of like the kanji (人) Eva talked about. Eh? Eeeeeeeh? ;D )


End file.
